


Unexpected

by ArabellaFaith



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArabellaFaith/pseuds/ArabellaFaith
Summary: After the death of his grandfather when he is fourteen, talented ballet dancer Yuri Plisetski goes to live with his distant cousin, famous pianist Victor Nikiforov.  When go goes to college, he discovers that one of his professors is reclusive composer Yuuri Katsuki who he used to idolize.  Just when he thinks things can't get any worse, violinist Otabek Altin sweeps him off his feet and begins to break down Yuri's walls, despite Otabek's own closed off nature.  What secret is Otabek hiding?  What will it take for Yuuri to ever perform again?Contains SMUT in later chapters, references to abuse, and language.





	1. Entrée

“I don't want to go, Grandpa!  There's no more dancing.  The second day is all musicians.  What do I care for a bunch of musicians?”  Yuri tugged at the uncomfortably tight neck tie and huffed.

 

“It would be rude to not to go see your fellow performers, Yurachka, even if they aren't from the same area of expertise as you,” Nikolai explained patiently, straightening his own tie.  “Besides, their guest pianist is a distant relative of ours.  Do you remember your mother's cousins the Nikiforovs?”  

 

“ _ Nein. _ ”

 

“Well their son Victor has become a very accomplished musician.  He performs all over the world and he will be playing a new composition.”

 

“Sounds like a show off to me,” Yuri grumbled.

 

Nikolai shook his head and gave his grandson an indulgent smile.  “It is a great honor that he will be playing for us,  _ leibchen _ .  Now let's get going, or all the good seats will be taken.”

 

Yuri grumbled, but did as his grandpa asked.  They arrived at the music hall half an hour later and were able to get decent seats for the performance.  Despite his disinterest in musicians in general, he had to admit that many of them were extremely good.  It only stood to reason, though, since only the best musicians and dancers were invited to an exhibition as elite as this. 

 

Maybe, if Yuuri Katsuki had been playing, Yuri would have been more enthused.  Unfortunately, the reclusive man hadn't performed in public since a disastrous concert six months before.  The admiration Yuri had long felt for the musician who he shared a name with was quickly turning to anger.  Was he really going to just  _ quit _ because of one failure?  How could Yuri respect someone like that?  The longer Yuuri refused to play, the more Yuri's resentment built.

 

A young violinist – admittedly a talented one, even if he was a bit too stiff – finished his piece and Yuri's grandpa nudged him.  “Victor is up next, Yurachka.”  Yuri nodded and studied his program.  The twenty five year old pianist took the stage with an exaggerated flourish, and Yuri had to stop himself from muttering 'show off' under his breath.

 

As soon as Victor's fingers touched the keys, Yuri knew why his grandpa had told him repeatedly that they were in for a treat listening to him.  The man could play effortlessly, as if the music was simply flowing from his fingertips.  He breezed through the piece that had members of the audience in tears, then gave a low bow to the crowd.   _ Okay, so he's good _ , Yuri thought grudgingly.   _ He's still a tool. _  Not that it really mattered.  It wasn't as though Yuri would ever have to see the man again, anyways.

  
  


**_Four years later_ **

  
  


Yuri slammed the door of the ridiculous pink sports car and started to stomp towards the stately brick building in front of him.  

 

“Have a great first day,” Victor called through the open window.  “I'll be back to pick you up at three!”

 

Yuri flipped him the bird and kept walking.  He didn't understand why Victor had insisted on driving him.   It was just his first day of college.  So what if it was the most prestigious performing arts university in the country?  Victor wasn't a proud parent, seeing their child off to class.  He was... well, Yuri didn't know exactly what he considered Victor.   _ A pain in the ass, _ he decided uncharitably.  He had his own damn car and could drive perfectly well.

 

A few other students looked curiously at the bright convertible and he cringed.  It was bad enough that he had to live with the drama queen.  He didn't need anyone else knowing about it.  Hunching his shoulders and pulling the hood of his jacket further over his head, Yuri walked into the university.

 

XX

 

“I know many of you probably think this class is a waste of time,” the soft spoken instructor said from the front of the lecture hall, “but not only is it required for you to graduate, I think you will also find that it will help prepare you for the rest of your careers.  You've all performed before, but most of you have had parents or coaches to handle things like scheduling, working with artists of other crafts, and composition, am I right?”  There were several nods of agreement.  “What I'm going to be teaching you in this course is how to do all that on your own, as well as many other skills you'll need to be confident, competent artists.”  He smiled gently and sat back on the desk behind him.  “Now, your paperwork lists me as Professor Winnerson, but I'd like for you all to call me Yuuri.  It's hard to be so formal when I'm not that much older than some of you here.”  He chuckled a little and was met with several hums of agreement.  “Why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves, then?  Let's start on this side.”

 

There were two dozen students in the class, and one by one they all stood to say their name and a little about themselves.   Yuri knew a few of the dancers – of fucking course he had to have classes with Mila and JJ – and recognized the names of several of the musicians.  The man on his right stood up and introduced himself to the class, his intense eyes staring at the wall ahead of him.

 

“My name is Otabek Altin.  I'm a violinist.  I'm twenty.”  He spoke totally emotionlessly.  When he started to sit down again, the professor spoke up.

 

“Anything else you'd like to add, Otabek?  Hobbies, other areas of study?  What year you're in, what kind of career you're looking to pursue?”

 

Otabek's expression didn't change, though a slight crease formed between his eyes.  “I will be an orchestral violinist, and this is my first year,” he said as if reading from a script. There was a pause.  “I also do dressage.”  Then he sat down and turned his eyes back to his desk.

 

“A-alright, how about the next student then?”

 

Yuri glowered at the somewhat confounded man.  He didn't bother standing.  “My name's Yuri Plisetski, I'm a dancer.  Ballet.  It's the only thing that matters to me, and I'm the best at what I do.  I'm eighteen, and this is my first year.”

 

“Oh, another Yuri, how unusual!  Maybe we can come up with a nickname to keep from mixing ourselves up.”

 

“I don't need nicknames, especially from washed up has-beens,” Yuri snapped.  The professor blanched and his smile faltered.  The student on Yuri's other side looked between the two of them and then stood up.

 

“Hi everyone, I'm Phichit!  I'm in my third year here, but I'm just now getting around to taking this class, can you believe that?”  He laughed brightly.  “I play saxophone and a little piano, but my true passion is my hamsters.  I have five of them!”  Phichit grinned and there was a swell of laughter.  He and the professor shared a glance, the latter mouthing a silent  _ thank you _ , and then the next student stood up to introduce themselves.

 

At the end of class, Yuri shoved his books into his bag and prepared to storm out of the classroom.  Before he could reach the door, however, a throat cleared behind him.

 

“Mr Plasetski, a word, if you would.”

 

“Fuck,” he muttered.  The man who'd been sitting beside him, Otabek, flashed him an inscrutable look, then moved past him and out of the room.  Yuri gritted his teeth and turned around.  “What?” he snapped.

 

The professor looked around to see that all the other students had gone, then sighed.  “Should I assume from your comment earlier that you know who I am?”

 

“If by that, you mean a nobody, then yeah, I know who you are.”

 

“I take it you're not a fan.”

 

“Of Yuuri quitter Katsuki?”  he scoffed.  “Hardly.”

 

Yuuri ran a tired hand over his face. “Look, I don't expect you to understand.  I don't even expect you to like me.  But I  _ do _ expect you to respect me in my classroom.  And if possible, I'd like you to keep my identity to yourself.”

 

“Respect you in your classroom?  How'd you even  _ get _ to teach in a place like this?  Most of the professors are experts, people who  _ did _ something with their lives.”

 

“Despite what you seem to think,” Yuuri snapped, starting to get angry, “I didn't quit music entirely.  I devoted myself to music for  _ years _ before I started teaching here.  Like it or not, you're a student in my class.  You're here to learn from me, despite your personal feelings about my career choices.”

 

“I don't think I have anything to learn from a cowardly little sheep who hides his face.”

 

The hard gleam left Yuuri's eyes and he shrugged.  “That's your choice.  You're an adult, it's up to you if you want to learn or not.  But if you fail my class, you're going to have to retake it.  And you'll need to get used to me at least a little, because if I'm not mistaken, you're in one of my other classes as well.”

 

Yuri nearly growled.  “You stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours.”

 

“You'd better run, or you'll be late to your next class.” The tone was utterly dismissive, and made Yuri grit his teeth in irritation.  He turned and slammed the door open, then stomped to his next class.

 

XX

 

The first week was miserable.  If it wasn't one thing, it was another.  It was bad enough that he had the wash-up Katsuki as a teacher in two of his classes, but he also had to deal with several other students who were irritating the hell out of him.  Mila had decided to tell several of the professors that his nickname in high school had been Yurio, and since there was already a Yuuri on staff, the name stuck.  Yuri  _ hated _ it.  Perhaps the worst thing was Victor's constant meddling in his life.  Not for the first time, he debated on moving out on his own.  It wasn't as though Victor would cut him off.  But if Yuri couldn't get any privacy in that giant mansion of a house that Victor called home, he doubted having his own apartment would stop Victor from butting into his business.

 

At least Yuri had been able to drive himself to school after that first day.  If he never rode in that damned pink convertible again it would be only too soon.

 

Each day, he pushed himself to his limit, forcing his body to comply with his desperate need for perfection.  He didn't care how much it hurt or what it cost him, he was determined to be the very best dancer.  As much as possible, he ignored the other students and focused only on his own studies and training.

 

By the second week, he was jogging the ten miles to school.  He would need to switch around his work out for the rest of the day, but he wanted to improve his endurance, and distance running was the best way to do that.  The university was nestled in the hills, surrounded by picturesque forest and sweeping vistas.  Unfortunately, that also meant that the back roads that led to it were often littered with stray branches.  Two miles from school, Yuri's foot caught one he hadn't noticed and he sprawled out on the rough pavement with a thud.

 

He tried to curse, but found that the wind had been knocked out of him.  By the time he had his breath back, the pain in his ankle was starting to make itself known.   _ Fuck _ .  He pushed to his hands and knees and tried to flex it gingerly.  “Fuck!”  It could move it, but the discomfort was intense, and he could already see it swelling.  A sprain, probably.  He was half way through thinking of what an inconvenience the injury would be for his training schedule in the coming weeks before he realized that he had a more immediate problem.  Like how to get to school with a sprained ankle.

 

If he called Victor, then he would have to endure the god-awful pink convertible.  Wanting that to be a last resort, Yuri tried to stand.  He'd danced on broken toes before, how hard could it be to walk on a sprained ankle?  One step had him crashing back to the road.  There was no way he could make it two miles.  Not only was the pain too intense, but if he pushed too hard, he risked causing permanent damage to his joint, which could hamper his dancing.  No, he'd have to call Victor.

 

Exasperated, he pulled his phone from his back and opened his call list.  Victor's was the last number there.  He stabbed the call button and waited.

 

Nothing happened.  No ringing, no cheery answer, not even a beep of a disconnected call.  When Yuri pulled the phone away from his ear, he realized why.  There was a little x where usually the bars that indicate service strength were.  “ _ Fuck! _ ”  What the hell was he supposed to do now?  Just wait there until someone came along?  What if it was a perv or a killer?

 

He tried to rationalize to himself that eventually the school would realize he was missing, but it was a sizable university.  This wasn't high school, where the office called home over an unexplained absence.  And it wasn't as if he'd made any friends there that would wonder where he was.  Victor wasn't expecting him home till three.  

 

Yuri sat on the pavement and contemplated his choices with increasing unease.  He could try to get to higher ground in hopes that his phone got a signal, but he could easily get lost in the woods and it would be difficult for someone to find him.  He could wait for someone to drive by and hope that they wouldn't have any ill intentions, but he'd purposely picked a little-used back road, plus, he didn't fancy becoming a statistic about hitch hiking.  The weather was mild, so maybe he should just wait and see if-

 

A low rumble had him jerking his head up in surprise.  The noise grew louder as it got closer at incredible speed.   _ Should I try and hide off the road _ ? Yuri wondered.  Before he even had the chance to make up his mind, a motorcycle broke into view and whipped past him in a blur.  As he watched, smoke rose from its tires and it skidded into a turn, then came back towards him at a more reasonable pace.  Unease prickled down his spine.  Was there even anything he could use as a weapon if whoever this was turned out to be a creep?  He was eying the branch he'd tripped over when the bike came to a stop beside him and the rider took off their dark glasses.

 

“Yuri?”

 

Yuri stared blankly at the sharply chiseled face looking down at him.  For a moment, he had no idea who the hell it was.  Then, recognition sparked and he let out a breath.  “Otabek Altin.”

 

“Yeah.  You okay?”

 

“Do I look okay?” he sniped.  Otabek shrugged one shoulder.  “No, I'm not okay.  I sprained my fucking ankle and I don't have any goddamn cell service.”

 

“Want a ride?”  He spoke in that same flat tone Yuri recalled from class, which for some reason, only irritated Yuri further.

 

“Unless you think you can magically teleport my ass to school.”  When Otabek only stared at him, Yuri rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, I need a ride.”  He was about to make another sarcastic comment, but Otabek held his hand down for Yuri to grasp.  Yuri stared at it for a moment, shocked at the wordless offer, then slipped his hand into Otabek's.  It was warm and calloused, and surprisingly strong.  In an instant, Yuri was pulled to his feet and steadied.  He threw his leg over the back of the bike and immediately the curve of the seat made him slip forward until his hips were cradled against Otabek's.  He squirmed.  “How do I stay on this damn thing?” 

 

“Never been on a bike before?”

 

“Do I look suicidal to you?”

 

Otabek let out a breath that could have been a huff of laughter or annoyance, but Yuri couldn't tell which.  “Just put your arms around me and hold on.”  Yuri reluctantly put his arms around the thick torso of the man in front of him.  When the bike lurched forward, the loose grasp he had turned into a death grip.  This time, he was  _ sure _ the slight shake of Otabek's shoulders was a laugh.  He leaned forward and bit Otabek's shoulder, hard.  It probably wasn't painful through the leather jacket Otabek was wearing, but it made his point.

 

Despite how reckless his speed had been before, Otabek kept them well under the limit the rest of the way to school.  Even at the slower pace, Yuri realized quickly that he  _ enjoyed _ being on the bike.  He'd never understood the appeal before, but raising his face to the wind, it felt as if he was flying.  There was a kind of freedom to having nothing but two tires beneath him.  It was exhilarating and thrilling, and Yuri knew immediately that he was hooked.  He wondered what Victor would think if he asked for a motorcycle for his birthday...

 

All too soon, the ivy covered bricks of the university came into view.  Otabek pulled his bike into the parking lot reserved for students and cut the engine.  Yuri still felt as though his legs were vibrating.  He stifled his grin and tried to get off the bike, only to be sharply reminded of why he'd needed the ride in the first place.  With a curse, he flopped against Otabek's back once more.

 

“Need help to the nurse's office, too?”

 

“So it would seem.”

 

Otabek nodded.  “How do you want it, then?”

 

“Huh?”  Yuri scrunched up his nose in confusion.  Otabek swung his leg over the bike and stood, slipping his satchel over his head so that the strap cut across his chest.

 

“Over the shoulder, bridal style, fireman's lift...”

 

“What, you think you can  _ carry _ me all the way up there?”  Otabek only shrugged.  “You're not  _ that _ much bigger than me.”  The shrug came again.  Yuri scowled.  “I don't give a fuck.  Just don't drop me.”  There was no reply, but then there was an arm around his back and another beneath his knees, and suddenly he was lifted against a surprisingly broad chest.

 

Otabek started walking towards the school, and Yuri tried to ignore the fact that he was being carried 'bridal style' through his college campus.  He also tried to ignore how steady the arms holding him were, or how firm the muscles he was leaned against felt.  He  _ definitely _ ignored the spicy, woodsy smell coming from the man carrying him.  Yuri didn't have time for things like attraction and infatuation.  He had one focus only, and that was being the best damn ballerina the world had ever seen.

 

A goal which would be much easier to focus on if Otabek wasn't quickly becoming the sexiest thing Yuri had ever laid eyes on.

 

They went half way across the main university building and up two flights of stairs before reaching the nurse's office.  The door was unlocked, but the room was empty.  Otabek deposited Yuri on one of the cots, then looked around.

 

“Figures the one time I come here is the one time no one's here,” Yuri grouched, flexing his ankle gingerly.  Otabek made a slight sound of acknowledgment – half hum, half grunt – then looked at the cuff style watch on his wrist.  “Just go, if you need to.  I'm not forcing you to stay.”  Otabek looked back at Yuri, then sat on the cot across from him and studied the younger man's face carefully.  “What?” Yuri demanded.

 

“You have unforgettable eyes,” Otabek said softly.  Yuri started and felt himself blush.

 

“W-what?  Don't be-”

 

“I thought that the first time I saw them.  Warrior's eyes.  Soldier's eyes.”

 

“You got all that from a forty minute class?”

 

Otabek shook his head.  “We were both at the exhibition in Berlin four years ago.  I played in the orchestra and watched you dance.  You were...”  He paused, then shook his head.  “Entrancing.  That's the best word for it.  Seeing you inspired me.”

 

“Really?”  Yuri looked at him for the first time with his defenses totally lowered.  There was no sarcasm, no barbed wit to protect him like armor.  Otabek nodded somberly.

 

“My life has been centered around music, around the constant drive to become better, and nothing else, for a long time.  There hasn't been room for things like friends or frivolity.  But if you find someone who inspires you, who makes you want to do  _ more _ , I think maybe that's the type of person you want as a friend.”  He stopped, then held out his hand.  “What do you say, Yuri?”

 

Yuri stared at the offered hand for perhaps a beat too long.  No one had  _ ever _ offered to be his friend before.  It bowled him over and left him unable to resist.  Cautiously, he lifted his own hand and they shook.  He opened his mouth to say something, then the door opened and a cheery woman bustled in, her arms laden with bags.

 

Their moment was cut short as the nurse saw them and began to fuss over Yuri.  Before Otabek left, he put his number into Yuri's cell phone, then went off to his first class.


	2. Adagio

Otabek was a surprisingly easy person to be friends with.  For two people who had, admittedly, very little experience on the subject, they fell into a routine very quickly.  They passed texts back and forth, most of them consisting of Yuri bitching about his classes, or Victor, or a new step he was working on but couldn't quite master.  Otabek would respond with either encouragement or 'tough-love' prompts, depending on the situation.  Yuri found that Otabek could be utterly cold when the occasion called for it.  It was something he respected immensely about his friend.  That, and the fact that he never seemed fazed by Yuri's outbursts of sarcasm and spite.

 

Their busy schedules left little time for idle socializing, but what time they  _ did _ have, they spent together.  It all would have been rather perfect, if not for Yuri's ever growing attraction to Otabek, and Otabek's seemingly total ignorance of it.  It wasn't as though Yuri expected anything to come of his crush, but still, it was a blight on his otherwise perfect friendship.  Even Victor had noticed it, which gave him ammunition to tease his young ward endlessly.  If Yuri would have had his way, he would have ensured that Otabek and the overly dramatic pianist never met.  Otabek, however, had other plans.  Despite the fact that he refused to bring Yuri to his own home, he was interested in seeing Yuri's.

 

The first time they went to the house, Otabek whistled low.  “Fancy,” he said with raised brows.  Yuri shrugged and glowered at the enormous brick monstrosity.

 

“Victor never does anything in half measures.”

 

“You don't have to introduce me to him today, you know.  I just thought it would be nice to hang out somewhere other than the coffee shop.”

 

“There's always  _ your _ house, you know.”  Yuri folded his arms and pouted.  Otabek's face immediately shuttered.  He shook his head.

 

“No.”

 

“Fine,” Yuri huffed.  “But there's no sense in trying to keep him from meeting you.  He's relentless.  Just come on, let's get this over with.”  He waited for Otabek to put the kickstand down on the bike and then led the way inside.  Victor was in the kitchen. Yuri could tell from the vague smell of burnt food hanging in the air.  Knowing Victor would find them sooner or later, he made his way there in hopes that they could get a quick introduction out of the way and then retreat to Yuri's room.  Victor must have heard their footsteps on the stairs, because he called out as they got closer.

 

“Yuri!  I'm making bread for you!  The first three loaves are flat and a bit hard, but I'm convinced this one will be light and fluffy and perfect.  It'll be done in- oh!”  He stopped, realizing that not one, but  _ two  _ people had entered the room.  “Hello there.”  He waved one flour covered hand at the shocked man standing behind Yuri.  “A guest?  You've never brought home a guest before!  Could it be that this is the infamous Beka?”

 

“Beka?” Otabek raised one brow and looked at Yuri, who had turned scarlet.

 

“Shut  _ up _ , Victor!”

 

“Otabek, actually.  Otabek Altin.”  He held his hand out to Victor, smothering his smile.

 

“It's so nice to meet you at last.  I've heard  _ so _ much about you from my Yuri.”

 

“Nice to meet you as well, sir.”

 

“And so polite!  Keep him, Yuri.  It'll be nice for you to have a friend around the house.”

 

“He's not a stray dog we're adopting,” Yuri sighed in exasperation.  “He has a home of his own.”

 

“Well fine,” Victor allowed with a slight pout that reminded Otabek strongly of Yuri's pout, “but feel free to stop by any time.  The Nikiforov door is always open to a friend of Yuri's.”

 

“Tha- wait.  N-Nikiforov?  Victor  _ Nikiforov _ ?”  Otabek turned his wide eyes to Yuri.  “You didn't tell me your dad was  _ Victor Nikiforov! _ ”

 

“He's not my dad!”  Yuri made a gagging sound and Victor grinned.

 

“Alas, I'm too young to be my Yuri's biological father, but I think of him as my son none-the-less.”  He put one arm around Yuri's stiff shoulders and booped him on the nose with his free hand, leaving a smudge of flour behind.

 

“Young my ass,” Yuri scoffed.  “He's just my guardian, and a shitty one at that.  Please don't tell him you're a fan, or you'll turn him into an even bigger diva than he already is.”

 

“Er, well it's impossible to be a classical musician and  _ not _ be a fan of Victor Nikiforov's.  I mean, he's-  _ you're _ – a living legend.”

 

“You flatter me,” Victor sighed, brushing off the praise with a smile.  “But around here I'm just Victor.  Yuri's dad.”  He turned to Yuri with his hands to his cheeks in excitement.  “I can't believe he called me your dad.  I think he's my new favorite person.”

 

“ _ I'm _ supposed to be your favorite person, asshole.”

 

“Aw, see, you do care,” Victor crooned.  Yuri snarled and grabbed Otabek's hand.

 

“Come on, let's get out of here before he gets any weirder.  By the way, all that bread is shit, Victor.  You didn't activate the yeast, you idiot.”

 

“Yeast?  Oh damn.”  He was looking back at his ruined loaves as Yuri and Otabek started to leave, but then stopped them.  “Just one other thing, Otabek.”  Otabek looked back, surprised at how serious Victor's voice had become.  The eyes that had been sparkling and dancing only a moment ago were now a flat, flinty steel.  Otabek swallowed, his muscles tensed.  “Yuri tells me you have a motorcycle.  Of course I would never try and tell him that he shouldn't be on one.  But I'm sure, being a  _ responsible _ friend, you don't allow him on your bike without a helmet?”  The edge to the question was razor sharp.  Otabek shook his head.

 

“No, sir.  I mean, not since the very first time, and then it was because I didn't have one and he needed to get to school because of the sprained ankle.  We went very slowly.  Any time since then I've made sure he had on a helmet.”  He met Victor's narrowed eyes steadily, knowing that since he was telling the truth, he had nothing to hide.  Victor held his gaze for another moment, then grinned, all traces of the Ice King he'd been moments ago gone.

 

“Wonderful!  I knew you were a good man.  Off you go then.  I'll make something different for snacks, since my poor bread is a total loss.”  He waved them off happily, then turned back to the flour and dough covered kitchen.

 

Otabek followed Yuri through the halls and up towards his room.  “So... Victor Nikiforov.”

 

“I don't want to talk about it,” Yuri grumbled.

 

“Okay, how about 'Beka'?”  He was half a step behind Yuri, but he could still see the blonde's ears turn scarlet.

 

“It's just... uh, a nickname.  It's stupid.”

 

“I like it.”

 

Yuri stopped and turned back, some of the red starting to fade from his face.  “You do?”

 

“Yeah.  I've never had a nickname before.  It's nice.”

 

“Oh.  Well, yeah.  Beka it is, then.”  He smothered a smile and continued walking.

 

“Do you have a nickname?” Otabek asked after a pause.  Yuri shrugged.

 

“Not really.  Yuri is already a short name.  The idiots at school call me Yurio, but I hate that.”

 

“I know.”

 

“My...” Yuri stopped, uncertain, then went on.  “My grandpa used to call me Yurachka.  I guess it was the Russian way to make it an endearment or something.”

 

“It's cute.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“I mean it.  A little long for a nickname, maybe.”  He thought for a moment.  “Yura?”

 

“That's shorter,” Yuri mumbled, embarrassed at how pleased the idea of him having a nickname only Otabek called him made him feel.

 

“Do you like it?”  Otabek watched Yuri flush pink once more, then shrug and mumble.  It might not have seemed like an enthusiastic agreement from anyone else, but Otabek knew his friend well enough to take that as a good sign.  “Yura it is then.”

 

They reached Yuri's room and went in, Yuri dropping his bag and flopping down on the bed immediately.  Otabek set his satchel down beside Yuri's and straddled the chair at Yuri's desk backwards.

 

“So, not that I'm complaining or anything, but what's up with helmet thing?  I never really thought about it before Victor brought it up, but you weren't wearing one that first day even though you were driving like a bat out of hell, but any time I've seen you ride since you had one on and a second for me.”

 

Otabek shrugged, not sure how to answer without going into more detail about his life than he was comfortable with.  “Didn't have a reason to wear one before, I guess.  But I'm not going to risk you getting hurt and it being my fault.  Plus, I figured you wouldn't wear one if I didn't.”

 

“Damn right.  But what do you mean you-”

 

“But it's a good thing we do, anyways.  Victor got a little scary there for a minute.”  

 

Yuri noticed the subject change, but didn't push.  Normally he didn't like to let things like that rest, but he could tell Otabek didn't want to talk about it and he appreciated that his friend hadn't pushed him about his relationship with Victor earlier.  “Yeah, he's an airhead most of the time, but every once in a while he turns into a serious adult.”

 

“I bet he's like that with anything to do with your health or safety.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“Its nice that he's so dedicated to you.”

 

“I guess,” Yuri said again, a little uncomfortable with the subject.  He didn't like to think of just how much he secretly enjoyed Victor treating him like a son.  Of just how much he owed the man for taking him in when he had nowhere else to go.  They sat in silence for a little while, then Victor knocked and brought in snacks for them.  It was an incredibly domestic scene, and despite Yuri's griping, Otabek could see he was grateful for Victor's fussing.

 

XX

 

Victor walked into the coffee shop, looking around for a college professor.  There were several people sitting at tables and on the comfortable couches by the windows, but they were all college-age.  He took out his phone to double check that he had the meeting time and place right.  The message Yuri's professor had sent to him was still the first on his list, and the information was exactly what he'd thought.  He huffed a little, disliking having to wait for anything.  Patience was  _ not _ his forte.

 

He ordered a latte and sat at the bar, sipping it slowly.  The professor hadn't really said what he wanted to talk to Victor about, but he assumed it wasn't something good.  Then again, it couldn't be anything too terrible since the school's administration wasn't involved.  Maybe the teacher just had some concerns that he thought Victor should be aware of.  He checked his watch again.  Five minutes past their meeting time.  He scanned the coffee shop, his eyes coming to rest on the man sitting two seats down from him at the bar.  Victor's stomach did a somersault.  The dark eyed man had just run his hand through his hair impatiently, slicking it back along his head for a moment and changing his look entirely.  He saw Victor watching him and lowered his hand, his face coloring.  The black silky strands flopped forward again messily.  Victor found it utterly charming.

 

“Hello there,” he greeted, moving to sit next to the object of his interest.  No reason not to have a bit of a distraction while he waited for the tardy professor.

 

“Uh, hi?”  The man looked around as if searching for the person Victor was  _ really _ talking to.

 

“Are you waiting for someone?”

 

“Y-yeah.  They're late, though.”  He checked his watch and frowned.

 

“Surely no one would be foolish enough to stand  _ you _ up.”

 

Yuuri blushed.  “It's not that kind of thing,” he objected, flustered.  “I mean, it's for work.”

 

“Ah, well good then.  Mind if I wait with you?  I'm also expecting someone.”

 

“Sure, I guess.”  The blush deepened and Victor chuckled.  He held out his hand.

 

“I'm Victor.”

 

Yuri offered his own hand automatically and raised his eyes to really look at his companion for the first time.  “V-Victor.... Victor Nikiforov!  Ohmigod.”  He pulled his hand back and clamped it over his mouth.  Victor chuckled again.

 

“You know, you're the second person this week to have that reaction.”  He smiled politely.

 

“I'm sorry, you must get that all the time.  That was so rude of me.  It's just, well, I've been a fan of yours since I was a child.  You're amazing.”

 

“Thank you,” Victor smiled warmly and propped his chin in his hand, enjoying the flustered blush on the other man's face.   It was  _ so adorable _ .  “And your name is...?”

 

“Oh!  I'm Yuuri!  Yuuri-” he stopped, realizing he'd been about to give his real last name to  _ Victor Nikiforov,  _ the last person in the world he wanted to see him like this.  “Uh, Yuuri.”

 

“Yuuri!  What a coincidence!  I happen to know another Yuri as well.  It's such an unusual name.  I suppose it's fitting since both of you are exceptionally handsome.”  

 

Yuuri sputtered, pushing his glasses back up when they slipped down his nose.  “I- uh, I mean- wait, another Yuri?”

 

“Indeed.”  Victor nodded, thinking this newest blush was perhaps even more becoming on his companion than the last.  “My little dancer, his name is Yuri as well.  Though his is an old Russian family name, and I'm assuming yours is-”

 

“I'm... I'm-” he stopped, shaking his head to clear it.  “I'm Yuri's professor!”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I'm the one who messaged you to meet up.  I'm Yuri's teacher.”

 

Victor looked at him askance.   _ “You're _ Professor Winnerson?”

 

“Um, yes.”  Yuuri fidgeted with his cup.

 

“Oh!  Well, you're... not what I was expecting.”  He put his hand to his forehead.  “Good lord, I was flirting with my son's teacher.  I'm so embarrassed.”

 

“No, no, I should have said something, or had some way for you to know it was me.  Usually it's only college kids in this coffee shop, so I thought I'd be able to pick out-” he stopped, biting his lip.  “Well, you're not what I was expecting, either.”

 

Victor's smile returned.  “I live to be unexpected.”

 

“Mission accomplished, then,” Yuuri agreed, smiling back and laughing a little.  “So, um, well I wanted to talk to you about Yurio.”

 

“Yurio?”

 

“Oh, some of the kids in class came up with it as a way of telling us apart, since I have them use my first name.”

 

“It's great!  I'll have to call him that when I get home.  I can only imagine his reaction.”

 

“I'm not sure how much he would appreciate it, to be honest.  He seems rather... well, grumpy.”

 

Victor sighed and flashed a sad sort of smile.  “That's a nice way of putting it.  He's an angry young man, and he lashes out at those around him.  If you don't know him well, it's hard not to take his outbursts personally.”

 

“I've noticed that he does speak harshly to almost everyone.  It's a bit abrasive.  I worry that it's alienating him from his classmates.”

 

“Most likely, though I'm not sure what I can really do about it.  He's been like that ever since he came to live with me.  Though he did make one friend this year...”

 

“Since he came to live with you?  He's not your, er, son?”

 

Victor chuckled at Yuuri's obvious confusion.  “I think of him as a son, but I'm not really his father.  We're actually distant cousins.  I'm only twelve years older than him.  His grandfather raised him after his father died and his mother left.  Nikolai had a heart attack and passed the summer Yuri turned fourteen.  I'd only met him once, at an exhibition a few weeks before.  But he had no other relatives, and would have become a ward of the state if I hadn't...” He stopped, lacing his fingers together and looking terribly conflicted.  “Well I'm not sure I did the right thing by him in taking him in.  Maybe he could have been adopted by a couple, become part of a family.”

 

“But you  _ are _ his family.”

 

“Of course.  I don't mean to dump all my insecurities on you.  Has he been disruptive in class?”

 

Yuri straightened up a little, trying to force himself back into 'teacher' mode.  He needed to focus on the subject at hand, and not how warm Victor's blue eyes looked, or how much he wanted to brush his silver hair across his forehead. “I-I wouldn't say disruptive.  Just, well, the way he is.  But I suppose he has a lot to be angry about.  It doesn't sound like he's had an easy life.”

 

“He hasn't.  Though sometimes I wonder if that's part of what makes him so good as a dancer.  He uses his pain to push his performances to a level that most can't reach.  I only hope that it's not damaging him as a person.”

 

“He's lucky he has you to watch out for him,” Yuri murmured.

 

“Just because I can provide for him doesn't mean that I always know the right thing to say or do.  But I will always try to do the best by him.”

 

“That's the most anyone can really ask.”  He finished his drink and pulled some papers from his bag.  “I think I understand him a little better now.  Maybe we can get off on a different footing.  Neither of us made good first impressions on each other.”  Yuuri wondered if Yurio hadn't told Victor about his identity as a courtesy to him, or if Yuuri just didn't merit mentioning.  “Anyway, he's fallen behind on some of his assignments, and I wanted to give him the opportunity to complete them before they count against his final grade.  My class is mandatory, and I'd hate for him to have to retake it considering everything...” he trailed off, not sure what to say as Victor took the papers and looked them over.  “Normally I wouldn't have gone over his head like this.  All my students are adults, after all, but he listed you as his contact person, and well, I didn't think he would take any advice coming from me.” 

 

“No, likely not. I very much appreciate you contacting me.  He can be so stubborn at times, even to his own detriment.  But I'll make sure he realizes the latitude you've given him.  I know you could have just failed him on these and washed your hands of the issue.  Thank you for giving him another chance.”  Victor laid his hand on top of Yuuri's, looking at him so sincerely that Yuuri had to swallow, hard.

 

“O-of course.  Everyone deserves a second chance, right?  One mistake doesn't have to ruin his future.”

 

For a moment, Victor thought that Yuuri was talking about more than just Yuri, but then the professor stood and put his bag over his shoulder, and the strange undercurrent between them was gone.  “If you can just see that he gets those to me by the end of the quarter?”

 

“I'll do that.”  Victor stood as well, wondering if he dared push his luck with the obviously shy teacher.  “Before you go... would it be against any of the university's rules for me to ask for your number?”

 

Yuuri choked, blushed, then blanched.  “You- I mean, I- well, well... no?”  He stared at Victor like a deer caught in oncoming headlights.  Victor would have felt bad about how flustered he made the other man if he didn't find it so utterly charming.

 

“No it's not against the rules, or no I can't have your number?”

 

“Th-the first.  That is, it's not against any rules.”

 

Victor smiled.  “Alright, then, may I have your number?”

 

“Um, it's the one I texted you on earlier.”

 

“I assumed as much, but I wanted your permission before I used it for any personal messages.”  Victor winked in what he hoped was a disarming manner, but it only seemed to make Yuuri tense further.

 

“P-personal?”

 

Victor hummed in agreement. “Like to ask you out on a date.”

 

“A  _ date _ ?”  Yuuri gasped so loudly that several people looked up at him, causing him to blush an even deeper shade of red.  He lowered his voice until he was speaking in an exaggerated whisper.  “You... would want to go on a date... with  _ me _ ?”

 

“Unless you think it's unethical in some way because of Yuri.”

 

“Well, no, but-”

 

“Wonderful!  I'll text you later then.  It was very nice to meet you, Yuuri.  I hope to get to see you again very soon.”  He pressed his fingers lightly beneath Yuuri's chin for a moment, smiled at him, then left the coffee shop.

 

Yuuri stood there for a full minute, not believing the conversation he'd just had.  When he could finally move again, he pinched himself, hard.  It hurt.  Apparently that hadn't just been a dream.  Victor world-famous-pianist Nikiforov, Yuuri's childhood idol, the entire reason he'd gotten into music in the first place, had just asked him on a date.

 

_ Holy shit _ .

 

XX

 

Yuri stormed into the house, the shitty mood he'd been in at school only getting worse.  The little coward Katsuki-in-hiding had given him weird looks all morning, then he'd ripped open three blisters dancing, and when he'd asked Otabek for a ride home so that he didn't have to jog back the ten miles with bleeding feet, his friend had paused, like he needed to fucking  _ consider _ the request.  No, Yuri hadn't said the reason was because his feet were bleeding, but should that really even matter?  Yuri had been about to tell him to fuck off and call Victor instead, but Otabek had handed him the helmet.  Then, to add insult to injury, when he'd put his arms around Otabek, he'd  _ flinched _ .  

 

Hurt had crashed through Yuri like a tidal wave before anger had come in its wake.  If he didn't want Yuri to touch him so fucking badly then he should put a bar on the back of his bike.  It wasn't like there was anything else for him to hold onto.  He grabbed Otabek's jacket, trying to touch him as little as possible while he fought back irrational, angry tears.  It was so fucking  _ stupid _ .  So what if Otabek was being an asshole?  So what if his only friend seemed to barely be able to stand him being so close?

 

When Beka had pulled up to the house, Yuri got off immediately, then tossed the helmet to Otabek without looking back.  He ignored his name being called and stomped inside, slamming the door behind him.  Otabek could just go to hell for all Yuri cared.   

 

Victor called out to him, but Yuri ignored it and went up to his room, slamming every door in his wake.  Victor was apparently undeterred by his show of temper, because there was a knock on his door only a moment after Yuri flopped down on his bed.  “Fuck off,” he called, voice muffled by his pillow.

 

“We need to talk, Yuri.”

 

“Go away, Victor, I'm not in the mood.”

 

“Now, Yuri.”  Victor was using his serious voice.  Fuck.  Muttering curses the whole way, Yuri rolled off the bed and yanked open his door, then collapsed back onto the bed dramatically.

 

“This had better be important, old man,” he snarled.

 

“Is failing one of your classes important enough to merit your attention?” Victor asked calmly.  Yuri's heart dropped for a moment, then he put the pieces together.

 

“Did that fucking coward call  _ you _ ?  He's worse than I thought!  Jesus!”

 

“Don't, Yuri.  Professor Winnerson didn't have to call me.  He could have just let you fail and made you retake his class.  Is that what you want?”

 

“What I  _ want _ ,” Yuri sneered, “is for everyone to leave me the hell alone!”  He wondered what Victor would think if Yuri told him who the teacher really was.  He was tempted, too, just to humiliate the bastard the way he'd humiliated Yuri.  But there must have still been some echo of the respect he'd once had for the musician, because he held his tongue.

 

“No, what you want is to become a famous dancer.  The best the world has ever seen.  And your college classes,  _ every _ one of them, will help you do that in some way.  Even the ones that don't seem obvious right now.”

 

“I don't need any help from that-”

 

“Yuri!” Victor's eyes were hard, his voice sharp with anger in a way that it rarely got around Yuri.  “Would you have rather he said nothing and you failed the course?  The course that's  _ mandatory _ for you to graduate?  Do you have any idea how generous it was of him to let you even make this work up?  Few other college professors would allow such leeway.  Obviously he cares.  He wants you to succeed, despite how you apparently feel about him.”  Yuri sneered, but Victor ignored it.  “Just do the work, Yuri.  Try and recognize the fact that someone is giving you a break.  And if you can't muster the ability to be grateful, at least give the man a little bit of respect for helping you out when he didn't have to.  When it would have been easier not to.”

 

Yuri allowed that to sink in for almost a moment before he exploded.  “It would be easier for  _ everyone _ not to!  No one owes me anything!  So why don't you all just fuck off and stop pretending to care, only to change your mind later and tear the rug out from under me!  I don't need that shit!  I don't need any of you!  I don't need anyo-” he broke off, realizing he was starting to sob.   _ Fuck! _  He was mortified, and even more ashamed when Victor came immediately to his side and held him.  The worst, though, the thing that made him hate Victor and himself and the whole goddamn world, was that he couldn't stop himself from leaning into Victor's embrace.  He turned his face against Victor's chest and sobbed.  Ugly, shoulder shaking crying that left him feeling as vulnerable physically as he was emotionally.

 

Victor didn't say anything.  He hummed a little, probably bars of whatever piece he'd been working on most recently.  He rocked back and forth, stroking Yuri's hair and rubbing his back softly.  When Yuri's tears finally dried, he went and got a pan of hot water and epsom salt for Yuri to soak his feet in.  He didn't comment on the torn blisters or the fresh bruises.  He brought water and hot chocolate and snacks and stayed up late with Yuri watching old movies they'd both seen a thousand times before.  Not once did he ask what had caused the outburst.  Not once did he try and force Yuri to talk about it.  For that alone, Yuri could have loved Victor for the rest of eternity.

 

He did love Victor, though.  For a thousand other little things.  For after school snacks.  For making sure Yuri got into the best college possible.  For silent support any time Yuri needed it.  For giving him a home, giving him family, when he'd lost them both.  For picking up Yuri's shattered pieces and letting him heal.  For being the closest thing to a father Yuri had ever had, and, despite all the things Yuri griped about, being the best father figure anyone could ask for.

 

The movie playing was barely half over, but Victor had started to doze off.  His head drooped to Yuri's shoulder.  For a moment, he let himself enjoy the closeness of it, of having a physical presence to lean on, but then he shook Victor's leg to wake him.  The old man would get a crick in his neck if he stayed bent that way for too long.  He tried to tell himself that it was just so that he didn't have to hear Victor bitching about it the next day, but he wasn't fooling himself.  He'd already been an emotional mess that night.  Might as well admit that he didn't like seeing Victor in pain.

 

“Hmm?”  Victor blinked and shook his head.

 

“Go to bed before you crush me here,” Yuri griped without any real malice.  Victor scoffed.

 

“I'm not that heavy.”

 

“Fatter and fatter every day, old man.”

 

“You wound me, Yurio!”  Victor clutched his chest in mock pain, even while teasing Yuri with the nickname.  Yuri made a gagging noise.

 

“Not you too!”  He groaned when Victor just grinned.  “Get out of here before I start talking about your hairline.”

 

Victor's eyes went wide and he clamped a hand over his forehead.  “You wouldn't.”

 

“Try me,” Yuri challenged, teeth flashing in a taunting smile.

 

“Fine,” Victor huffed, glad to see that whatever had come over Yuri was gone.  “Sleep well,  _ malen'kiy tantsor _ .”  He reached for the doorknob but paused when he felt a hand on his arm.

 

“Victor?”

 

Victor turned back and saw Yuri staring up at him, mouth open as if he was trying to speak but couldn't quite get the words out.  Words weren't how Yuri expressed himself.  They made him feel too exposed, too vulnerable.  Victor didn't try and make him articulate what he was feeling.  Instead, he hugged Yuri tight.  The way Yuri hugged him back fiercely, even if just for a moment, told him everything he needed to know.  When he pulled back, he kissed the top of Yuri's hair.  “I know,” he whispered.  Then he left the room and pulled the door closed behind him.


	3. Solo part one: Yuri

Yuri ignored Otabek for the next few days.  It wasn't the most mature way to handle things, but he honestly didn't know what else to do.  Otabek confused him more than any person he'd ever met.  He was taciturn and reticent, but then he could be so incredibly open.  Even though he was careful to never let anyone touch him, before that last motorcycle ride, he'd never had any problem with Yuri touching him.  They could talk for hours at times, sharing ideas and hopes, and then suddenly Beka would grow quiet and he would say that they shouldn't waste time on such frivolous dreams.  It was like he was two people, the man Yuri had come to know and admire, and then the stoic, emotionless one who never stepped a toe out of line.  Yuri didn't know which of them was the real Otabek, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

 

After a week of unanswered texts and cold shoulders, Otabek cornered Yuri outside of school.  Classes had finished hours ago, but Yuri had been practicing late, so the parking lot was empty except for Otabek's motorcycle.  Yuri sneered at Beka and tried to push past him, but Otabek wouldn't budge.  He didn't grab Yuri or push him back, but stood his ground, keeping Yuri in the little outlet where two of the buildings met.

 

“Fuck off, Beka,” Yuri hissed.

 

“We need to talk.”

 

“Yeah, well, too bad.  We don't always get what we need.”

 

“Yura-”

 

“No!  Don't call me that!  You don't get to be buddy buddy with me one minute and then cut me off when it gets inconvenient for you!”

 

“That's not what I was trying to do.  I want...”  He ran his hand through his hair, the longer strands of his undercut spiking out wildly.

 

“What  _ do _ you want?” Yuri demanded.  There was a pregnant pause, and Yuri thought that finally Otabek was going to open up to him.  That finally they were going to get the myriad of things that went unspoken between them out into the air.  But then Beka closed his mouth and shook his head.

 

“Nothing,” he murmured.  Yuri felt his anger start to boil over.

 

“Bull shit!  You're just a coward who won't-” he had raised his fist and was about to pound it against Otabek's chest, when he saw everything in Otabek change.  Like flipping a switch, suddenly the man before him was utterly cut off.  His face had lost all trace of emotion and every muscle in his body had tensed.  He hadn't flinched, but he had braced for a blow.  Yuri looked down at his fist.  It wasn't even half the size of Beka's.  Despite the fact that Otabek was only a few inches taller, he had twice the muscle and was wearing a padded leather jacket.  Had he really thought that Yuri could  _ hurt _ him?  “Jesus, what's the matter with you?”

 

And just like that, the change was gone as if nothing had happened at all.  Otabek shook his head and started to back away.  Yuri snatched the lapels of his jacket and hauled him back.  “Don't just turn away from me,” he demanded.  His voice turned soft, almost pleading.  “Tell me.  Tell me what's wrong.”  He reached up and brushed the tips of his fingers against the stubble on Otabek's jaw.

 

Beka groaned, then suddenly his fingers were threaded into Yuri's hair and he'd hauled him close.  Their lips crashed together, hard and hot and breathless.  Yuri was frozen at first, totally unprepared for the kiss, but then he melted into it, pressing his body against Beka's and clutching his shoulders.  Yuri tilted his head and deepened the kiss.  His tongue traced the furl of Otabek's lower lip and he thrilled at the feel of Beka holding him tighter.

 

Just as suddenly as it had begun, Otabek tore himself away and braced his hands on the wall, his chest heaving and breathing harsh.  “I- I can't.”

 

“What?  Is this a game to you, Beka?”

 

“No!”

 

“Then why?  Why would you do that and then say...”

 

“I  _ can't _ !  You think I don't  _ want _ to?  Do you think it's easy for me to feel...  _ this _ , and push it back every fucking day?”

 

“Why do you have to?” Yuri cried, trying desperately to understand.

 

“My father- my family has expectations of me.  My life is on a set path that I'm not allowed to deviate from.  My music, my career, then marrying a  _ woman _ from a decent family and carrying on the family name.  There's no room for-”

 

“For what?  For a man?  For a kid with no family, no fucking pedigree?”

 

“For  _ love _ .”  Otabek closed his eyes tight against the word and rested his forehead against Yuri's.  “You weren't supposed to happen.  I wasn't supposed to-”

 

“Sh-shut up,” Yuri ordered him, gripping his jacket once more, not pushing him away or pulling him closer, just holding him there.  “I didn't expect you, either.  You weren't in my plan.  But here you are.  If you don't want to talk about it, then that's fine.  Hell, I'd rather we didn't.  But don't push me away.  Don't pretend like this isn't what we both want.  Just...” He let out a long breath and felt his knees go weak.  “Just hold me for now.”

 

Otabek didn't hesitate.  He wrapped his arms around Yuri and pulled him close.  Yuri rested his head against Beka's chest, feeling the warmth of the leather jacket beneath his cheek and inhaling that spicy smell that seemed to belong to Otabek alone.  There was a shift, and then from one moment to the next, Yuri had gone from the one being held, being comforted, to the one doing the comforting.  Otabek's arms tightened, as if he felt Yuri would slip away if he didn't clutch him closer.  He buried his face in the crook of Yuri's shoulder and took half a dozen short, sharp breaths that almost sounded like sobs.  But when Yuri pulled back to look at his face, Beka's eyes were dry.

 

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” he asked softly.  Yuri shook his head.

 

“I don't know.”

 

XX

 

Yuuri wondered how long he would be able to keep his identity secret from Victor.  They'd gone on one date already, a very safe coffee date where he'd been able to keep the conversation mostly on Victor and away from his own personal life, but they were supposed to have dinner next, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep the truth hidden.  He knew Victor was curious as to how he had become a professor so young, and what his musical background was.  What was he supposed to say?  That he'd idolized Victor from a young age and then dedicated his every waking hour to emulating the man?  That he'd spent more than a decade training endlessly so that one day he might have the chance to play on the same stage as Victor?  That his anxiety had gotten the better of him at his first international exhibition and he'd destroyed his career?  That he hadn't played in public since, and wasn't sure he would ever be able to again?  

 

Victor Nikiforov wouldn't want to date a washed up musician with stage fright.  He wouldn't want to deal with Yuuri's panic attacks and self doubt and his every other eccentricity.  Part of him thought it would be better to get the truth out now.  The less time he had to become attached to Victor, the less it would hurt when they parted ways.  But the other half of him wanted to hang onto every stolen moment that he could.  To take everything he could until the end so that he had all the more to look back on.

 

He picked up the phone to cancel their date a dozen times, then put it down just as many.

 

In the end, he found himself outside the restaurant on Friday night, waiting for Victor to arrive.  He checked his watch, then cursed himself for arriving twenty minutes early.  How the hell was he supposed to deal with this anxiety for another-

 

“Yuuri!”  Victor's voice broke through his thoughts and he jerked his head up.

 

“Victor, you're here already?”

 

“I could say the same about you,” Victor said with a laugh.  “And here I thought I would be suave and be waiting at the table when you arrived.  Ah, well.  I'll just have to find some other way to woo you.”

 

“I, uh, I don't really require any wooing.  I mean, you're...  _ you, _ after all.”

 

“Ah, but you deserve to be wooed, Yuuri.  Why don't we see if our table is ready and I can wow you with my sparkling wit?”  He slipped his arm through Yuuri's and steered them into the restaurant.  Their table was, indeed, ready, so they were seated right away and ordered their meals.  “So, tell me, what's your favorite meal?”

 

“My favorite meal?”

 

“Yes!  I think I should know that, don't you?”

 

“Well, okay... I guess it's  _ katsudon _ .  It's a Japanese dish my mother used to make for me.  It's a bed of rice, and then a fried pork cutlet, and there's vegetables and- and- and I'm rambling about food,” Yuri trailed off miserably.  Victor laughed.

 

“I can tell you feel strongly about it!  I hope someday I'll get to try it.  How about the type of music you like?”

 

“Um, all of it?  I mean, there are some kinds I like more than others, sure, but variety is the spice of life and all that.  What about you?”

 

“Oh, I've got my favorites.  But let's keep talking about you.  What is your-”

 

“Why boring stuff about me?  You were telling me about your concert in Paris last time.  You could tell me what happened after that.”

 

“Exactly, Yuuri.  Last time we talked about  _ only _ me.  I want to know more about you.  What you like, what you don't like, what your hobbies are, your plans for the future...”  He trailed off and rested his hand gently on top of Yuuri's.  Yuuri gulped and fought dueling urges to either yank his hand away or jump across the table and ravage Victor right there in the restaurant.  The pervading instinct was to hide.  Hide who and what he was from the one man more than any other he did  _ not _ want judging him.

 

_ He's going to find out sooner or later, and then he's going to hate you all the more for hiding it from him _ , a voice in his head whispered.

 

“W-well I'm pretty boring.   I like boring stuff and don't have any plans for the future at all.”

 

_ Liar, liar.  Eventually he's going to realize the truth, and then where will you be? _

 

“Now that can't be true.  You're anything but boring, Yuuri.”  Victor smiled at him encouragingly.

 

_ Look at that, he's already pitying you.  Is this what you want?  For him to go on pity dates with you until he finds out who you are and dumps you? _

 

“Oh god, I can't do this.”  Yuuri dropped his fork and drained his water glass, feeling as though his throat was going to close up.

 

“Yuuri?”  Victor's voice was filled with concern.  “Can't do what?  Are you alright?”

 

“No, I'm not.  I mean, I am, it's just...”  He rubbed his hand over his forehead and moaned.  “How do I say this?  I should just do it.  I should just come out and say it.  Like a band-aid.”  He looked up at Victor's confused, worried eyes and steeled himself.  “My name's not Yuuri Winnerson.”  With his gaze back down at the table cloth, he took a deep breath and let it out.  “I'm Yuuri Katsuki.  I am – used to be – I mean, I  _ am _ a pianist and composer.”  There.  He'd said it.  He didn't really expect Victor to know him by name, but surely now would come the barrage of questions, and then he would have to tell the story of what happened-

 

“I know.”

 

“Huh?”  Yuuri's head jerked up and he stared at his softly smiling dinner companion.  “W-what did you say?”

 

“I said, 'I know.'  I know who you are, Yuuri.”

 

“I- you-  When?”

 

Victor shrugged one shoulder.  “The day after our meeting.  It took a little coaxing to get people to talk about you, but I was able to piece things together from a few friends at the school as well as what Yuri's told me.  He's a big fan of yours, you know.”

 

“Yurio?  A fan of  _ me _ ?  He hates me!”

 

“On the contrary.  He danced his first exhibition to your  _ Coucher du Soleil _ .  He may resent you now for not being publicly involved with music, but he still listens to each new piece you compose.  I think he still has a few posters of your stashed away somewhere...”

 

“I...”  Yuuri shook his head in consternation.  “ _ Really _ ?”

 

“Of course.  How else do you think he recognized you on sight, despite how fiercely you've protected your privacy?  He'd seen you perform before.  You may have even given him an autograph once.”

 

“Wait, if you knew, then why-” he raised his hands and gestured vaguely with them.

 

“Why didn't I say I knew who you were and drill you with questions about your career?”

 

“Well... yeah.”

 

Victor waved his hand negligently.  “Your career choices are your own business.  I assume there's a reason you're teaching under an assumed name, and don't get me wrong, I'm dying to know the whole story, but when and if you tell me is your choice.  Besides, there are so many more important things I want to know about you, like what your family is like and whether you're a morning person or a night owl.”

 

“It really doesn't bother you?”

 

“What doesn't bother me?”

 

“The fact that I'm...  I'm a wash-up.  I couldn't cut it as a performer so I ran.  I'm the poster boy for failure as a musician.”

 

“Is that really how you see yourself, Yuuri?”  Victor studied him, taking in his downcast eyes and restless fingers toying with the silverware.  “I don't know anyone who sees you that way.  You've continued composing even after you stopped performing publicly.  Your pieces over the last five years have been groundbreaking.  Even I have trouble doing them justice, and I'm not half bad at the piano myself.”  He smiled a little at Yuuri's gasp.  “Just because you've decided to focus on a different area of your art doesn't detract from your presence as an artist.”

 

“I'm not an artist.  I'm a pianist who doesn't perform.  That's about as good as a boat without a bottom.”

 

Victor scoffed.  “Hardly.  Come on, I want to show you something.”  He put cash down on the table – ignoring Yuuri's protests – and pulled Yuuri out to his car.  Ten minutes later, they were standing on the stage of the University's concert hall.  There was a baby grand piano off to the side, and Victor urged Yuuri over to it.  “What do you see here?” he asked.  Yuuri rolled his eyes.

 

“A piano,” he spoke the word slowly and clearly, as if the ride from the restaurant might have addled Victor's head.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Victor-”

 

“No, tell me.  How do you know?”

 

“Because it looks like a piano and sounds like a piano.”

 

“How do you know it sounds like a piano?  It's not being played.”  Victor smirked and snapped down the key cover when Yuuri went to press a few notes.  “Is it still a piano if it's not being played?”

 

“I see what you're saying,” Yuuri sighed.

 

“Do you?  Because you seem to think that you're not a musician if you're not playing.  Does who and what you are change just because no one can hear music?”

 

“Four years of doubts aren't going to just go away because of one metaphor.  But I take your point,” Yuri conceded.

 

“Ah, good.  Well that's a start.  Now how about you come play with me?”  Victor raised the key cover and sat himself dramatically on the bench.  When he looked up, Yuuri's eyes were comically wide.

 

“You're asking me, who has performance anxiety so bad that he hasn't been able to play on stage in four years, to play with the man who inspired him to take up music in the first place, who he's idolized for far longer than is probably healthy, who is the  _ last _ person he wants to see him stumbling over a basic sonata?”

 

“Um... yes?”  Victor patted the other side of the bench hopefully.

 

“No way!”  Yuuri did a little shuffle away from the piano so fast it looked like a dance step.

 

“Fine!  Come sit with me.  You can crack my knuckles with the baton every time I make a mistake.”

 

“Victor Nikiforov doesn't make mistakes,” Yuri said firmly, taking a careful seat on the other end of the bench.

 

“Hmm, we shall see.  How about this one?  I'm sure you know it.”  He cracked his knuckles loudly, let his fingers hover over the keys for a moment, then put his right index finger on middle C and his left finger on the key next to it.  He tapped them eight times, then moved one key out and repeated the process.  Yuuri burst out laughing.

 

“You can play  _ Flight of the Bumblebee _ in triple speed with your eyes closed, but you want me to critique  _ Chopsticks _ ?”

 

“Oh, fine, how about this then?”  He switched to  _ Three Blind Mice _ , and had Yuuri laughing even harder.

 

“You're not even trying!”

 

“Alright, alright, tell me what you think of this one.”  Victor moved his hands out and started to play seriously.  It was a melody Yuuri recognized immediately.  How could he not, when he'd composed it himself?  He felt himself falling into the song, each note wrapping around him like a silk ribbon.   _ This _ was how it was meant to be played.  Hearing his song from Victor's fingers was some kind of paradise.  The music swelled, approaching the climax, then slowed.  “How does the next part go?”

 

“B flat,” Yuuri murmured, not wanting to open his eyes and break the spell he was under.

 

“Mm, B flat, and then?”  He played the note and waited.  Of their own accord, Yuuri's hand rose up to play the right keys one octave higher.  Victor smothered his smile and followed the notes.  They played the crescendo of the song together, the high notes Yuuri played hanging in the air like a haunting echo, at just the perfect pitch to create an overtone.  When the last strains of the melody faded away, Yuuri opened his eyes and saw Victor watching him.  His pupils were blown wide, the black of them almost eclipsing the silvery blue of his irises.  Yuuri's own chest was heaving, adrenaline and something else, something intoxicating, coursing through his blood.

 

“Victor,” he whispered, his voice husky and broken.  “You should know, this isn't who I am.”

 

“Just be who you are, Yuuri.  I won't ask anything more of you.”  His hand rose up, as if to cup Yuuri's cheek, but before it had crossed the distance between them, Yuuri had moved forward.  He pressed his lips hard against Victor's, moaning low in his throat and sliding his fingers through Victor's hair.  Victor kissed him back just as ardently, caught up in the same sensual spell as Yuuri.  How long had he searched for someone like him?  Someone who felt the music in their blood, in their bones?  Someone who lived and breathed the music, who moved as if it was already inside of them, just dying to get out?

 

And here he was.  Yuuri's hands suddenly slipped beneath Victor's hips and lifted him onto the piano.  There was a clash of dissonant keys as he pressed down onto them, but neither man noticed.  Victor's legs automatically came up to wrap around Yuuri's waist, his hands scoring up his back and then scrabbling to open his shirt and get at the skin beneath it.  They were both fumbling fingers and frantic need as they devoured each other.  Tongues twined, breath mingled, the slide of leather against metal hissed through the air as belts were undone.  Then there was nothing but the sound of heated pleas and breathless moans, shaking hands grasping, stroking,  _ driving them wild _ -

 

Yuuri cried out, his hand clenching around Victor's cock as his release tore through him.  Victor bucked his hips up, fucking Yuuri's fist until he followed a moment later.  Their feverish, ultra-sensitive skin pressed together, causing them both to gasp and writhe, not sure if the sensation was too much or not enough.  Slowly, racing hearts calmed and heaving chests steadied.  Blue eyes met wide brown, and there was a flash of something that felt like forever.  That felt like  _ home _ .

 

XX

 

The end of semester exhibition seemed to come far sooner than Yuri thought it would.  Maybe it was all the new things he had to complain about, like his pseudo-father dating his least favorite professor/ex favorite musician.  Maybe it was the grueling training schedule he was keeping up with.  More likely, it was the abundance of stolen kisses and hushed words of love he shared with Otabek.

Neither of them had labeled what they had.  They didn't talk about it, didn't parade it in front of anyone.  They still did everything they'd done together before the heart-wrenching confession of love.  Only now, they did more.  Now, Yuri didn't have to hide the looks of longing at Beka.  Now, he didn't have to restrain himself when the urge to touch, to hold, overtook him.  Now, there were soft caresses and wandering hands.

Otabek was weirdly selective about when he would let Yuri take off his shirt, but the times he did... Yuri took his time memorizing every inch of that olive skin, every peak and valley of muscle.  He reveled in the feel of his own skin pressed to it, drove them both wild with rocking hips and just the right amount of friction to make them want to beg for more.  Still, despite Yuri's willingness, they hadn't gone any further than that.

Sometimes, Yuri wondered about the wait.  Did it have to do with building anticipation?  With nerves, or with simple patience?  Most of the time, though, Yuri didn't care.  He knew what they both wanted, what they were headed towards, and that was enough for him.  So they touched and teased between practice, drawing out the thrill of it until all it took was a single look from one of them to make the other hard and aching.  They took long rides on the motorcycle, feeling the vibration of it between their legs.  Yuri fantasized more than once about Beka fucking him over the bike, way out in the hills somewhere.  They stayed up helping each other train, and Otabek fantasized about having Yuri naked and begging for release pressed against the wall length mirror in the dance room.

They still did separate things, too – Otabek refused to let Yuri come see him riding horses, despite him practicing dressage several times a week, and Yuri didn't often let Otabek around when he and Victor were together because neither of them needed more ammunition to tease him with – but that didn't bother either of them.  They appreciated that they could separate parts of their lives and not be insecure about being together.   

The exhibition went better than either of them could have hoped.  Yuri's dancing had never been more graceful, more impassioned.  Otabek played flawlessly to a piece that had been composed specifically for him.  Both of their performances were met with thunderous applause.  Yuri was already thinking about how they could do a duet - him dancing to Beka's playing.

They met up at the banquet afterwards, both brimming with praise for each other's accomplishments.  Otabek caught Yuri up against his chest and kissed him hard, then spun him around before setting him down.  Yuri laughed at his absurdity and kissed him again, just for the joy of doing so.  They were out in the gardens, half hidden behind the rose bushes, so Yuri didn't feel the need to hold himself back.  When they finally caught their breath and readied to rejoin the party, Otabek's face grew serious.

“My father is here tonight.”

“Just your father?  I thought I'd get to meet him and your mother at the same time.  I suppose there's always the next exhibition.”  Yuri shrugged.

“Yura, you know I can't introduce you to him the way I want, as-”

“Don't, Beka.  Don't beat yourself up about that.  I barely even talk about this shit with Victor, who is the nosiest parental figure  _ ever _ .  I don't expect you to share what we have with your dad.”

Otabek sighed, tucking a strand of Yuri's hair behind his ear.  “I wish I could,” he whispered.  Yuri caught his hand and pressed a kiss to the pad of his finger, then nipped at it playfully.  The serious moment gone, they laughed together and went back into the banquet.

Yuri was almost immediately swept away by Victor and a crowd of other dancers.  Mila and even JJ congratulated him on his performance.  Chris, a dancer friend of Victor's from his days at university, had obviously had a little too much to drink and dragged Yuri to the gardens again to show him some improvised dance steps.  The other people who'd gone out to the gardens for fresh air blushed at the spectacle, and Yuri foisted the man off on Victor to send him home in a cab.  When he turned back, still laughing, he nearly knocked into a man standing behind him.

“Excuse me-” he stopped when he was met with a familiar pair of brown eyes and thick, slashing eyebrows.  “Uh, Mister Altin?” he ventured.

“Have we met?”

“No, not yet, though I'm sure Beka's around here somewhere waiting to do the introductions.  I'm Yuri Plisetsky.”  He held out his hand with a genuine smile.  Otabek didn't seem particularly close with his family, but they were an important part of his life.  Despite the fact that they weren't planning on telling the Altins about their relationship, Yuri still wanted to make a good impression.  Mr Altin looked down his nose at Yuri's hand.  Immediately, Yuri's heart sank.  After a moment, he finally shook, but the contact was halfhearted and fleeting.

“Yes, I've heard about you from my son.  A dancer.”  He said the word as if it was an expletive.

“That's right.  One of the best.”

“Hm,” Mr Altin said noncommittally.  “Seems a little... feminine, don't you think?”

Yuri felt his face harden and had to force himself to keep from sneering at the man.  “I don't see what gender has to do with it.  Dancing is a rigorous art, that takes dedication and a grueling training regime.  Male  _ or _ female.”

“I see Otabek forgot to mention that you've got a smart mouth.  It's a shame you didn't grow up with a father who might have taught you to curb your tongue.”

Yuri saw red.  “Or maybe the men who raised me just weren't dicks who felt the need to belittle me,” he snapped.  Mr Altin's face mottled with fury and he wrapped his hand around Yuri's upper arm to yank him forward.

“Why you little-”

“ _ Get your hands off him _ ,” Otabek snarled.  He'd appeared as if from nowhere, moving to Yuri's side faster than Yuri would have thought possible.  He threw his father's hand back at him and put himself between the two of them.  Yuri could see Beka's teeth glinting in the moonlight, as if he was a feral animal that would snap at the slightest provocation.

“Otabek!”  Mr Altin glowered at him, clearly not expecting his son to interfere.  Otabek didn't back down.  A minute passed.  Then two.  “We are going to  _ discuss _ this later.”  He said the words like a threat.  When Mr Altin shifted slightly to the right, Otabek followed the movement.

“Fine,” he agreed stiffly.  “But keep your fucking hands off of him.”  Mr Altin took an aggressive step forward, but stopped when Otabek stood his ground.  He huffed out a breath, then turned and stormed off.  Yuri relaxed, unclenching the fingers he hadn't realized he'd fisted in the back of Beka's jacket.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked incredulously.

“Nothing.  Come on, we should get you inside.  I'm sure Victor's looking for you.”

“Beka, that wasn't nothing.  I mean, obviously your dad's an asshole, but I don't want you getting into trouble over me.”

“I'll be fine.  He shouldn't have touched you.  Did he hurt your arm?”  Otabek grasped Yuri's upper arm lightly, as if he might be able to sense any injury.

“I'm okay,” Yuri said, shrugging out of the hold.  To be honest, his arm  _ did _ hurt, but he wasn't going to admit that to Otabek when he was obviously so upset about it.  “Really, though, he seemed pissed.  Is he always like that?”

“Not usually out like this, but I think he's had a few drinks.  I'm sorry, Yura.”

“Why are you apologizing?  You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, well it's still my responsibility.”

“You aren't your father's keeper.  It's not your fault he's a massive dick who apparently hates dancers.”

Otabek chuckled a little, half a smile finally making its way across his face.  “I'm not sure he hates all dancers.  Mostly you.”

“Oh, well that's even better,” Yuri laughed.  Victor emerged through the patio doors and made his way over to them.

“What's going on out here?” he asked cheerfully.  There was a rosy flush on his cheeks, and he slung his arm around Yuri's shoulder.

“Not much.  Beka's dad hates me.  The usual.”

“Hates you?  Now that can't be true.  Who could hate this angelic face?”  Victor smooshed Yuri's cheeks together with a thumb and forefinger.  Yuri swatted him away.  “Well if he does, it can only be because he doesn't know you well enough yet.  You might be an acquired taste, but who could help but love you once they get to know you?”  He moved to put his other arm around Otabek, not noticing when he tensed at the friendly contact.  “And did you see my son tonight, Otabek?  He flew across the stage!  Like... like a  _ fairy _ .  It was beautiful!”

“I'm not your son, moron,” Yuri griped playfully, letting Victor steer the three of them back into the banquet hall.

“You wound me, Yuri!”

“Is he drunk?”  Otabek leaned behind Victor's back to ask.  Yuri rolled his eyes.

“You'd think that, but no.  This is what he's like when he's barely buzzed.  He's not drunk till his clothes start coming off and he thinks he can dance.”

“You know who can dance?” Victor asked excitedly.  Yuri groaned.  “Yuuri!”  He saw the man a few feet away and abandoned the boys in favor of Yuuri.  

“I see you found Otabek and Yurio,” Yuuri said with a smile.

“I did.  And now, it's time for us to get home so that you can dance for me.  I would dance for you, but that would require several shots.  I do have vodka at the house, you know.”

“Shut up, old man!” Yuri griped.

“Fine, fine,” Victor agreed reluctantly.  “But only because tonight is  _ your _ night.  I'm so proud of you,  _ leibshin _ .  You were wonderful.”  He turned to Otabek, who had taken half a step back, not entirely comfortable with the open, honest displays of affection.  “And you, Otabek, you played beautifully.”  He put his arms around Otabek and pulled him in for a hug, heedless of the swift intake of breath and sharp tensing from the other man.  He held the embrace perhaps a moment longer than he might have, until Otabek exhaled and relaxed.  Then, Victor pulled back and smiled at him.  “I'm so glad you're in my Yuri's life.  You'll come to me if you ever need anything, yes?”  

Otabek couldn't tear his gaze from those piercing blue eyes.  Eyes he felt as though saw just a little too much.  Was it his imagination, or was there a deeper meaning behind his words?  It was as though the tipsy, grinning playboy had vanished, and for a moment, the serious adult stood in his place, reaching out to Otabek.  He just nodded, and the illusion was gone.  Victor smiled at him and laughed when the Yuuri's pulled him away.  Otabek thought there had to be some sort of bitter irony in that movement.  Of him sharing a moment with Yuri's dad, and Yuri pulling him away.  Except it was a beautiful kind of parody of its earlier counterpart.

“I would say ignore him, Beka, but he's serious.”  Yuri shrugged.  “I think they've nominated me to drive everyone home since I'm the only one who hasn't had any alcohol.  Are you going home with your dad?”

Beka shook his head.  “I've got the bike.”

“Good.  Well, drive safe.  And good luck.  Come to our place if things get out of hand or something, okay?”

“Sure.”  Otabek flashed a tight smile and waved them off.  He watched the three of them go, Victor with his arms around each of the Yuuri's, proclaiming to anyone who would listen how amazing his son was before they finally got him through the door.  Otabek allowed himself one moment.  One small, petty moment to feel jealous.  To wish things could be different.  To envy the man he loved of what he had.  Then he let his gratitude that Yuri had such wonderful people in his life overwhelm the ugly emotion, and turned to find his father.


	4. Solo part two: Otabek

Yuri went to bed glad that the house was so big that he and Victor had rooms far enough apart not to hear each other's nocturnal activities.  He was doubly glad of that when he went down to the kitchen in the morning to find Yuuri making pancakes wearing nothing but sleep pants and an apron.  And he of course  _ didn't _ have any appreciation at all for the way his former idol's back muscles bunched and flexed as he flipped a pancake.  Because Yuri  _ hadn't _ had a crush on the man when he was a kid.  Nope.  Not even a little one.

 

“Are you trying to blind me?” he asked indignantly, snatching a piece of bacon off a nearby plate and thinking smugly to himself that Beka's shoulders were much broader and nicer.

 

“Oh!  Yurio!  I-I'm sorry, I didn't even think-”

 

“Ignore him, Yuuri, he's just teasing you.”  Victor walked into the kitchen also shirtless and wrapped his arms around Yuuri from behind.  He dropped a kiss onto his neck, which caused Yuri to make a gagging sound.  “I'll bet if it was Otabek making pancakes shirtless, he wouldn't complain.”  Victor smirked at Yuri, who threw the last bit of his bacon at him.  Victor caught it and ate it with a laugh.

 

“Still, I'm his professor.  It's not very professional of me to-”

 

“Oh, shut up, little sheep,” Yuri interjected.  “I'm just glad I didn't catch you two fucking on the counter.  Are those almost done or what?”  He gestured to the pancakes, internally snickering at the way Yuuri's face flushed scarlet.

 

Yuuri finished the pancakes and they ate together, a rag-tag kind of domestic bliss falling over the room as they bantered back and forth.  Yuri kept up a steady stream of vitriol, but inside, he thought it felt kind of... nice.  Kind of like family.  All that was missing was Otabek.

 

He left the kitchen when Yuuri and Victor began bickering playfully over who got to wash the dishes and who got to dry (a ridiculous subject, considering there was a top of the line dishwasher going unused, but Yuri got the feeling that the bickering was half the fun for them) and sent a text to Otabek.

 

**Y: how'd things go at home?**

 

**O: about how I expected.  Nothing I can't handle.**

 

**Y:  I feel like it's kind of my fault.**

 

**Y: I'm sorry**

 

**O: don't.  You've got nothing to be sorry for.  He was the one who stepped out of line.  It won't happen again.  I'm just sorry you had to deal with that.**

 

**Y: I'm not a delicate flower, you know.  It takes more than one misguided asshole to get me down**

 

**O: I do know.  You're one of the strongest people I've ever met, Yura**

 

**Y:  If you're going to be all sentimental then we should hang out.  Maybe go for a ride this afternoon?**

 

**O: I don't think the bike is a good idea today**

 

**Y: Okay, want to come over instead?**

 

**O: isn't it already a bit crowded there this morning?**

 

**Y:  Just Victor and his little boy-toy being gross in the kitchen.  But it's a big house**

 

**O:  How about a park instead?**

 

**Y:  ...okay.  Want me to come pick you up since you don't want to take out the bike?**

 

**O:  No.  There's one not too far from my house.  I can walk there.  Meet you in half an hour?**

 

**Y:  Sure.  See you in a bit.**

 

Yuri tried not to over analyze the strange text conversation.  This wasn't the first time Otabek hadn't wanted to go for a ride, even though it was nice out.  Yeah, it was a little weird that he didn't want to come over, especially for such a flimsy excuse as the house being 'crowded', but that didn't mean anything strange was going on.  It certainly didn't mean that Beka was getting him somewhere to break up with him.  After all, they weren't even officially dating.  So there wasn't anything he  _ could _ break off, right?  And Otabek wouldn't stop seeing him just because his father disliked him, would he?

 

As he drove to the park, all that went through his mind were the times Beka had talked about his duty, his obligation to his family, how respecting his father's wishes had been ingrained in him from a young age.  Could he really subvert years of loyalty just for Yuri?  Yuri wanted it to matter that Otabek's dad was an asshole.  He wanted to be able to say that it wasn't fair.  But what did those things really mean anything?   If Otabek was being made to choose, him, or his family, how could he expect him to choose Yuri?

 

Beka was already at the park when Yuri pulled up, wearing a long sleeved shirt despite the warm weather.  He was sitting on the rusted merry-go-round, eyes staring ahead blankly.  It reminded Yuri of the way his eyes had looked that first day in class, flat and emotionless.  He shivered.

 

“Hey,” he called as he walked up.  Otabek blinked, and suddenly it was all back.  His face softened, his eyes heated, and his lips curled into a small smile.

 

“Hey,” he said back, holding out his hand.  A thrill shot through Yuri, and he laced their fingers together eagerly.  “How was breakfast with your least favorite couple?”

 

Yuri chuckled.  “Gross.  They already act like an old married couple.”

 

“That's kind of sweet.”

 

“Yeah, until you have to see them getting all lovey-dovey while the pancakes burn.”  He did an over exaggerated grimace, then scooted closer to Beka.  “Though I wouldn't mind taking you somewhere so that I can replace those images with some better ones.”  

 

Otabek caught Yuri's hands and put them back down gently.  “Not today.”

 

The insecurities from earlier came rushing back to Yuri.  He jerked his hands away, eyes flashing as pain twisted in his chest.  “Did you bring me here to break up with me, Beka?  Because you could have done that on the phone and saved me the trip.”  The words were laced with all the anger Yuri felt.  Otabek's eyes widened and he shook his head.

 

“Of course not!  Why would you think that?”

 

“Everything!  Your dad hates me and you already don't like going against what he says.  You didn't want to come over, didn't want to go on a ride, don't want me to  _ touch _ you-”

 

“That's not true,” Otabek insisted.  He took back one of Yuri's hands and cupped it over his cheek, leaning into the contact when Yuri's fingers automatically curled closer.  “You're the  _ only _ one I want to touch me.  I know things have been fucked up sometimes, but I promise that doesn't have anything to do with you.  You're the best thing about my life, Yura.  I don't know what I'd do without you.”

 

“I- I don't understand.  I wish you would explain to me what's going on.”

 

“You don't need to know.  You don't need that kind of shit on your shoulders.  I'm sorry that it seems like I'm shutting you out, but I can't- I can't-” his breath hitched, and Yuri was shocked to see that there were tears in his eyes.  Proud, stoic Otabek, who was always so strong, so impervious...

 

“Beka,” Yuri whispered brokenly.  He threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Otabek.  To his horror, Otabek cringed away, a guttural cry of pain wrenched from his throat.  Immediately Yuri released him, trying to see what had happened.  “Are you alright?” he demanded.  “What's wrong?”

 

“N-nothing-” Otabek hissed in a breath between his teeth, his face contorted in pain.  He leaned away, trying to control his reactions.

 

“You're obviously hurt!  What happened?”

 

“Nothing!  I- I went riding last night and got thrown, I should have- it was my own faul-” he broke off when Yuri lifted his shirt and gasped.  Otabek's torso was mottled with angry bruises.  It did look as though he'd been in a riding accident, like he'd been  _ run over _ by the damn horse, except... except that there was a clearly hand shaped mark on his ribs, and dots of other bruises that were from fingertips.  “It's not as bad as it looks,” Otabek insisted, his eyes wide and glassy.

 

“Oh my god.”  Yuri stood up and backed away from him, his hand over his mouth.  “Oh my god!”  The hand went up to his hair, fisting in it and nearly yanking as everything came crashing into place.  Every time Otabek had flinched when Yuri held him too tightly, why he didn't want Yuri at his house, why he'd reacted so savagely the night before when his father had grabbed Yuri's arm...

 

“Yura.”  Otabek's voice sounded small, a ghost of itself.  He cradled his torso with one arm and reached towards Yuri with the other.  Without even realizing that he was moving, Yuri had walked forward again and gripped Otabek’s hand.  He was powerless to do anything else.  Hurt and anger roiled up inside of him, mixed in with protectiveness and so much fucking love that he thought it would tear him apart.

 

“Come on,” he finally said, tugging gently until Otabek stood.  “You need to go to the hospital.”

 

“No!  I can't.”  Otabek started to pull away, but Yuri gripped him tight.  

 

“Beka, your ribs could be fucking broken!  You need to see a doctor.”

 

“I  _ can't _ .  Yura...”  He stood firm, face haunted but unwilling to bend.  Yuri cursed under his breath and tried to think, tried to figure out something,  _ anything _ to do.  He didn't know how to handle this shit, he wasn't cool and collected and knew all the answers like Vic-

 

“Come on,” Yuri said again, his mind made up.

 

“Where?”

 

“My house.  Victor can fix this.  He'll know what to do.”  Yuri started walking towards his car, tugging Otabek along gently behind him.

 

“There's nothing to  _ fix _ .  It's fine-”

 

“It's  _ not _ fine!  Don't you dare say that!”

 

“You don't understand.”

 

“No, you're right.  I don't.  I have no idea what's been going on, what you've been going through.  But this is going to be the last fucking time.”

 

“It's not that simple.”

 

They'd reached the car, and Yuri caged Otabek against it, not touching him, just surrounding him and blocking out the rest of the world.  “It  _ is _ that simple.  What if it was me, Beka?  What if Victor was beating the shit out of me?  If he was  _ hurting _ me, and I told you just to let it go.  Could you?  Would you be able to stand by and let it happen?  Let him go on abusing me?”

 

Otabek's jaw clenched and he looked away.  “It's not the same.  You couldn't stop him on your own if it was Victor.  He's bigger than you.”

 

“So the fact that you're bigger than your fucking father now makes it okay for him to do this to you?  What about when you were smaller?  I'll bet he did it back then, too.”  Yuri waited, but Otabek didn't say anything else.  He wrenched the door open and waited for Beka to get in, then went around to the driver side, stopping to send a text to Victor saying that he was coming home and he needed help.

 

They rode in silence, neither sure what to say.  Finally, Otabek reached across and took Yuri's hand.  “I'm sorry,” he murmured, eyes downcast.

 

“You have  _ nothing _ to apologize for.”  Yuri squeezed Beka's hand once and then pulled it away to grip the wheel, afraid he would hold it too tightly in his turbulent emotions.  Otabek already had enough bruises on him, Yuri would be damned if he would leave another one.  “I just wish I'd known sooner so that I could have helped.”

 

“It's not your responsibility-”

 

“Don't,” Yuri bit out.  “Don't say that.  I fucking love you, alright?”  He wiped furiously at the tears he felt forming on his lashes.  “That means that I care.  That I  _ want _ it to be my problem or responsibility or whatever the hell it is.  Because  _ you're _ mine, Beka.  You're mine and I'm yours, and that means I'm going to be here for all this shit.  That I'm going to do whatever I can to help you and to make goddamn sure no one is hurting you.”  He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.  “I love you,” he repeated softly.

 

“I love you too.”  Otabek started to reach his hand out again, then dropped it back into his lap.  They pulled up in front of the house and Yuri released his seat belt, turning in his seat.  He took Otabek's face between his hands and stared into his eyes intently.

 

“It's going to be okay.”  He stopped, emotion twisting in his chest.  “You're going to be okay.  We're going to get through this together.  You're not alone, Beka.  You won't ever have to be again.”  He leaned over, kissed Otabek softly on the forehead, then got out.  Beka had already opened his door and was trying to gingerly stand.  Yuri offered his arm to help, unsure of where he could hold that wouldn't cause him pain.

 

When they went through the front door, Victor and Yuuri were waiting, faces full of concern.  “There you are!”  Victor strode forward, grabbing Yuri by the shoulders and looking him over.  “What's wrong?  Are you hurt?”

 

“Not me.  Beka.  We should let him sit down somewhere.”  Yuri waved Victor out of the way and ushered Otabek into the living room.

 

“What happened?”  Yuuri asked.  Otabek didn't say anything.  He sat down on the wide chair Yuri indicated and kept his head down.

 

“Later,” Yuri said gruffly.  “Just- for now he needs help.  Beka, do you think you can get this off?”  He touched the hem of the shirt.  Otabek nodded silently and started undoing the buttons.  With each one that opened, more of the bruises on his chest and stomach came into view.  Yuuri gasped.  Victor whispered,  _ my god _ .  Yuri helped Beka shrug the shirt off his shoulders, revealing welts striping up his back.

 

Victor held onto Yuri's shoulder as he took in all the damage.  “He needs to go to the hospital.”

 

“That's what I said.  He won't go.”

 

“What?  Why?” Yuuri asked, looking between the two of them.  Otabek still hadn't raised his face.  

 

“Because he won't report the person who did it to him,” Yuri bit out.

 

“Why not?”

 

Yuri knelt next to Otabek, looking up at his face.  It was blank again, the hollow look that frightened Yuri to his core.  “Beka?”  He was asking permission, not wanting to push too far but knowing that they needed to say  _ something _ .  Otabek shrugged, the movement making him grimace in pain.  Yuri took his hand and laced their fingers together.

 

“Because it was his father.”

 

Both of the older men froze.  Victor's eyes went immediately to Otabek's knuckles, which were uninjured.  The boy hadn't even fought back.  He was just sitting there, looking so  _ ashamed _ , as if all of it was somehow his fault, or as if he didn't deserve to have them worrying about him and wanting to help him.  Something like rage started to beat in his chest.  He stepped forward, arm outstretched, but stopped when he saw Otabek's body tense as if expecting a blow.  His breath left in a rush.  He turned sharply and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him.  The sound of shattering glass came from the hall.  Yuri squeezed Beka's hand softly.

 

“Maybe I should go see if everything is alright,” Yuuri started.

 

“Leave him,” Yuri said.  “He needs a minute.”  Yuuri nodded, then grabbed the cashmere throw from the back of the couch and draped it across Otabek's shoulders.

 

“Everything's going to be alright, Otabek,” Yuuri murmured.  “I'm sure you're confused, but we're going to help.  You're not alone, okay?”  Beka didn't look up, but he gave a little nod.  A moment later, Victor came back into the room holding a tray of drinks.  He set the tray on the table and then knelt down, offering a cup of tea to Otabek.  His hands were shaking just enough to slosh the hot liquid until Beka took it.

 

“Otabek- Beka,” Victor's voice was higher than normal, but soft, as if he was trying to soothe a frightened animal.  “I've called a private doctor to come check your injuries.  He won't contact the police unless we ask him to, okay?”  He waited, going on when Otabek gave a slight nod.  “Can you look at me,  _ leibshin _ ?”  There was a pause, and slowly, Beka raised his head.  “There you are.”  Victor gave a little smile of encouragement.  “You're safe here.  No one is going to hurt you.  This isn't going to happen ever again.”

 

“That's not- it's not like that,” Otabek managed to say.

 

“Can you tell me what it is like?”

 

Silence.

 

“Can you tell me what happened last night?”

 

More silence.

 

“I know what happened,” Yuri said softly.  Yuuri and Victor turned to him, surprised.  “He was defending me.  At the banquet-” he glanced at Otabek, but he made no move to try and stop Yuri.  “At the banquet, Mr Altin said some shit to me.  I reacted, well, like  _ me _ , and he grabbed my arm.”

 

In an instant, all the fury that Victor had been keeping tightly in check came roaring to the fore and his eyes blazed.  “He  _ touched _ you?”

 

“He just grabbed me.  Then Beka made him stop.  He told him to get his hands off me.  Then his dad said something about them discussing it later, and Beka said fine as long as he kept his hands off me.  Then Mr Altin stormed off.  I'm guessing by 'discussing it' this is what he meant.”

 

“Is that what happened, Otabek?” Yuuri asked gently.

 

“It's not Yura's fault,” Beka bit out.

 

“No one is saying that,” Victor assured him.  “I'm grateful that you were there to intervene, but I'm sorry that it came to this.”  Otabek shrugged one shoulder.  “Am I right in assuming that this isn't the first time something like this has happened?”  There was a pause, then Otabek nodded.  “Does your mother know?”

 

“There's not much she can do about it.”

 

“How long has this been going on?”

 

Another shrug.  “A while.  It's not usually this bad.  He had been drinking.”

 

“Yuri's mentioned once or twice that you have a strong sense of familial duty.  Is that why you don't try and stop him?”  Victor kept his voice light, but Otabek still flinched.  “You don't have to talk to me about it.  Do you think you could talk to Yuri, and trust him to share the necessary parts with me?”  He waited while Otabek looked from Victor to Yuri.  Then he nodded.  “Okay.  We're going to give you some space while we wait for the doctor, then.  Is there anything else I can get for you?”  

 

“No.  Thank you.”

 

“You're more than welcome.  We're going to get you through this.  All of us together.”  He stood, then held out his hand for Yuuri.  The two of them left the living room and pulled the door closed behind them.  Yuri sat carefully next to Beka on the chair and opened his mouth to speak, but there was a scuffling noise from the hall.

 

“I want to  _ fucking destroy _ that bastard,” Victor hissed, his voice muffled through the door but his fury still clear.  “How dare he lay a hand on his child?”  Yuuri said something, too soft for them to hear.  “I just-  _ god _ , I want to break something.”  Another murmur they couldn't understand, then Victor scoffed.  “Something else then.  He doesn't deserve this, Yuuri.  He's a good kid.”  Their voices grew faint the further they went down the hall, until another door closed and it was muted entirely.

 

Yuri thought about all the times he'd felt gratitude to Victor.  Of all the things that his pseudo-father had done for him, helped him through, supported him with.  He thought of all the sappy shit he'd ever felt and tried to suppress, of all the love he'd ever held for Victor despite resenting it.  And in that moment, he didn't think he'd ever loved Victor more.  The man was an air-head.  A moron.  A flighty show off who had more talent than sense.  But he had the biggest fucking heart of anyone Yuri had ever met.  He was a  _ good _ man, and if Yuri could someday become half the man Victor Nikiforov was, he would consider himself a success.

 

If Victor had asked him about it in that exact moment, Yuri might have even admitted all that out loud.

 

“He's right, you know,” Yuri said softly.  “You didn't deserve this.  Not any of it.”

 

“I talked back to him and defied him.  I knew the consequences.”

 

“This isn't 'consequences'!  This is abuse!  It's so fucked up, Beka.  Normal people,  _ good _ people don't do this to their kids.”

 

“I'm not a child, Yura.  I'm twenty years old.  I'm  _ bigger _ than he is.”

 

“So?”  Yuri scowled.  “That's the second time you've said that.  Does that make it okay?  All that means is that he's fucked with your head so bad that you're not willing to defend yourself.”

 

“You don't understand.”

 

“No, you're right.  I don't.  But I don't think you do, either.  This is  _ wrong _ .  Him hurting you like this... it's so fucked up!  He's supposed to love you, protect you from shit like this!  And you-”  Yuri stopped, trying to control the anger and frustration coursing through him.  “You don't have to just take it.”

 

“What am I supposed to do, then?” Otabek exploded.  “Hit him back?  Then I'd be just as bad as him!  I'd have to physically hurt him to stop him, Yura.  He's my  _ father _ .  I can't just-”

 

“Then why not leave?  You're old enough, you could live on your own.”

 

“And leave my mother behind to take his beatings instead?”  Otabek scoffed.  “Besides, where would I go?  Anything I've earned from performances in the past I had to turn over to him.  He pays for everything.  My phone, the university, all of it.  My bike is the only thing that's really mine, and that's only because it built it from scrap.”

 

“Your mother can leave, too, Beka.  She can get help if she needs it.  But honestly, I don't really give a shit.  She let him beat you and didn't do anything about it.  It isn't your job to protect her.  It's supposed to be the other way around.”  Yuri shook his head, then flicked Otabek's forehead lightly.  “And you're an absolute idiot if you think you don't have a place to go.  Of course you're staying here.  Whatever you need for as long as you need.”

 

“That's not right,” Otabek protested.  “I can't just- I shouldn't even be here.”  He stood, dropping the blanket off of his shoulders and reaching for his shirt.  “I can handle it.  I just-”

 

“Don't you fucking dare try to leave!”  Yuri snatched the shirt away from him and threw it on the couch.  “You're going to see the doctor Victor's called, and you're going to rest.  And if you think you're just going to walk yourself out of here, don't for one second think I won't have Victor bring you back.  It will break his fucking heart to make you, but he'll do it.  He cares about you too much to let you suffer like this.”

 

Otabek looked like he was going to fight.  He stood there, poised on the edge of reason, waiting for the breeze to blow him one way or another.  Yuri held out his hand to him, eyes pleading.  “Let us help, Beka.  Please.”  Otabek swallowed thickly and took the hand, letting himself be led back to the chair to wait for the doctor to arrive.

 

XX

 

Otabek's ribs were tightly taped up, and he'd just taken a fresh dose of anti-inflammatories.  His phone was turned off, as it had been all afternoon.  Yuri had tried to insist that Otabek take the bed and he could sleep on the couch, but the idea had been quickly vetoed.  Yuri's bed was king sized, and they were dating, after all (“we are?” Yuri had asked, a little shocked to hear Beka phrase it so openly.  “Of course we are,” he'd replied.  “I mean, unless you don't want to be?”  “No, I do, I do.  I really do.  As long as you want to.”  “Well, I do.”  And that was that.) so as long as they were both comfortable with it, there was no reason for them not to share the bed.

 

They had both rolled to their sides, facing each other.  There was enough moonlight through the blinds for them to see each other's faces, but the rest of the world was cast in shadow.  There was a sort of comfort in that.  As if it was just the two of them, nothing and no one else.

 

“You want to know what's always pissed me off, that's really ridiculous?” Beka asked after they'd been laying in silence for a while.

 

“What?”  Yuri brushed a few strands of hair off Otabek's forehead, caressing his cheek lightly before tucking his hand under his chin once more.

 

“I'm really good at dressage.  I always have been, from the moment he forced me to start doing it.  It's like... it's like there's this whole different world on the back of a horse.  One that makes sense.   It's simple.  I'm a  _ great _ rider.”

 

Yuri smiled a little, bemused.  “And that pisses you off?”

 

“It pisses me off that no one knows it.  Everyone thinks I'm shit at it because I always had to lie about riding injuries to cover.  That's why I had to start dressage to begin with.  The other riders all wondered why the hell I kept going back if I all I did was get hurt all the time.”

 

“Is that why you never let me see you ride?”

 

“Yeah.  You'd have seen through it.  You've always seen through me, right from the start.”

 

“I didn't see this,” Yuri disagreed.  “I wish I had seen it sooner.”

 

Otabek sighed.  “I guess I got good at hiding it after all these years.”

 

“When did it start?”

 

He was silent for so long that Yuri didn't think Otabek was going to answer.  Then, he rolled to his back and let out a little, bitter laugh.  “You know, I don't even remember.  It wasn't always like this.  He'd hit my mom from time to time, but open handed, nothing that would leave a bruise.  And he slapped me around a little, but it wasn't like he was beating me.  Maybe sometime after they discovered I could play the violin.  Not just play, but play it  _ well _ .  From then on, I was expected to be perfect at it.  I was always supposed to be better, to practice more.  Somewhere along the way his punishments for not living up to his standards went from a few slaps to a few punches, or knocking me down and kicking me, or his belt.  But he never hit my face, and he made sure never to injure my hands.  It just... became normal.  I know that sounds pathetic.”

 

“It doesn't sound pathetic.  It sounds horrible.  I can't even imagine having to go through that.  I don't know how you managed.”

 

“I just... did.  I didn't think about it, I guess.  Sometimes...”

 

“Sometimes?” Yuri prompted, when Otabek trailed off.

 

“Sometimes I felt  _ nothing _ .  Like everything in me had gone numb.  I just didn't care about anything at all.  So I'd ride recklessly or go too fast on my motorcycle without a helmet like I was daring for something to happen.  Like anything could be better than the way things were.”

 

“But now things are going to get better, and you're never going to do anything so dangerous or stupid ever again.”

 

Otabek smiled at the ferocity in Yuri's voice.  “No, I won't.  You make me feel again, Yura.  I don't want to risk losing that.”

 

Yuri leaned up on his elbow and kissed Beka softly on the lips.  They stared at each other for a moment, then Yuri dropped down and curled himself around Otabek, as close as he could without touching him.  “Tell me something else,” he whispered.  “Something no one else knows.”

 

“I tried to quit playing.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.  The summer after I graduated high school.  I think I was hoping... that if I wasn't playing, then there wouldn't be anything for him to be mad at me about.”

 

“I'm guessing that's not what happened.”

 

Otabek shook his head.  “He went ballistic.  I had a 'riding accident' that fall and ended up in the hospital for almost a month.”

 

“Jesus fucking christ!”

 

“I missed that year's university enrollment, but I was in this year's.”

 

Yuri tried to fathom what that must have been like for him.  How helpless he must have felt, how trapped.  “You must hate music now.”

 

“I wouldn't say that.  I... I don't love it any more.  Not the rigors of playing classically.  But the music itself...  I always wanted to try composing.  That's nearly impossible to break into though.”

 

“I'm sure the other Yuri would give you a hand, if you asked.”

 

Beka's eyebrows drew together in confusion.  “The music professor?  I like him and all, but how would he help?”

 

“Shit.”  Yuri had forgotten that Otabek didn't know who Yuuri really was.  “Uh, well I don't think he would really mind if I told you at this point.  I mean, you're going to be around quite a bit anyways, and it was bound to come out.  But, you've heard of Yuuri Katsuki, right?  Pianist-”

 

“-violinist, composer, yeah of course.  No one in the field hasn't heard of him.  He's practically an icon.  He's like a ghost.”

 

“No, he's real flesh and blood,” Yuri drawled pointedly.

 

“You don't mean- are you trying to tell me that Yuuri Katsuki is sleeping with your dad?  Ohmigod, you're being raised by Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov.  It's like you've been blessed by the music  _ gods _ .  Holy shit.”  He stopped, grinning ear to ear.  “Holy shit.  Yuuri Katsuki is my music professor.  Yuuri Katsuki made you pancakes this morning.”

 

“Will you stop saying his name like that?  He's still just Yuuri the timid little professor who tripped over his briefcase and slammed his face into the chalkboard the second day of school.”

 

“Yeah, but, he's  _ Yuuri Katsuki _ .  I can't believe it...”

 

“Well believe it.  And I am  _ not _ being raised by him and Victor.  I'm an adult that just happens to be living here while they slobber all over each other.”

 

Otabek chuckled, and they laid there in silence for a while, each wrapped up in their own thoughts.  “How long have you known it was him?” Otabek finally asked.

 

“The first day.  I recognized him.  Even with those ridiculous glasses.”

 

“But how?  When he was performing, he was always so distant, so private.  Hardly anyone ever saw him up close.  And after he stopped playing publicly, no one really saw him again.  It would just be a new composition every year or so and nothing else.”

 

Yuri bit his lip, then decided to admit the truth.  Otabek had bared his whole life to Yuri that day.  The least he could do was share this one secret.  “I'll deny it if you ever try and tell him, but I was sort of... kind of a big fan.  Of his.  Like, really big.”

 

“I think everyone is-”

 

“No, you don't get it.  I looked up to him.  He'd said in an interview once that he didn't have a lot of natural talent, but that he'd dedicated himself to practicing and training and  _ making _ himself the best.  And it was obvious that he had a lot of anxiety about the publicity and all that, but he dealt with it.  He pushed through it, he made a name for himself.  Even as a kid, I wasn't in a great place emotionally.  I mean, I had my grandpa, and he was the best anyone could ask for... but I was still just a kid with a dead dad and a mom who didn't care enough to stick around.  So I looked at him, someone who wasn't perfect like Victor, who had challenges and obstacles to overcome, and I promised myself that I was going to be like that.  So I threw myself into my dancing, trained longer and harder than anyone.

 

And then, he had one set back and he gave up.  It wasn't even that  _ bad _ .  I was there.  I always talked grandpa into taking me to every one of his performances that we could afford.  The music was still beautiful, it was just like... like he was conflicted.  He wasn't focused on his playing, and he fumbled the complex arcs of the song.  But his violin piece earlier had been fine, and everyone still supported him, still cheered for him.  So when he gave up performing, it felt like a betrayal.  I'd spent most of my life idolizing him, waited for hours outside a performance hall once for an autograph from him even though he  _ never  _ gave autographs, pushed myself to be more like him, and then it turned out that the man I was trying so hard to emulate was just a coward.  And the longer he stayed away from music, the more I resented him.”

 

“But Yura-”

 

“No, I know it's a little twisted.  Trust me, I know.  But my grandpa died a few months later, and I just hated the whole world.  Maybe... I might have mixed some of that anger up with my anger at him.  It doesn't make much sense, but it just-” he sighed.  “It just is what it is.”

 

“Not everyone can be as strong as you, Yura,” Otabek said softly.  Yuri rolled his eyes, but Beka stopped him with a soft touch on his cheek.  “You always focus so much on what you want to become, on where you want to go next, that you don't take the time to realize that us mere mortals beneath you look up to you.  You're like this beautiful, ever-evolving... monster.  No one can even come close to reaching you because you've already reached a new level when anyone tries.”

 

“You must be delirious from pain medication and lack of sleep,” Yuri scoffed.

 

“I'm perfectly serious.  It's true.”

 

“Maybe the monster bit.  Close your eyes, Beka, you need some sleep.”

 

“Fine,” Otabek huffed out a light breath, a smile curling his lips.  “Good night, Yura.  And thank you.  For everything.”

 

“Night.  I love you.”

 

Otabek's mouth opened and he mumbled a reply, but sleep was already claiming him.  Yuri studied his face in the moonlight, his chest tight.  He was exhausted, but he knew rest wouldn't come easily.  He'd seen too much that day, made such terrible discoveries that would haunt him even in his sleep.  Beka said that Yuri was the strong one, but Yuri knew it was the other way around.

 

When they'd become friends that day Yuri had sprained his ankle, Otabek had said that Yuri had warrior's eyes, soldier's eyes.  But Beka was the soldier.  When they'd first met, years before, had he been drawn to the pain in Yuri's eyes, the hopelessness, because it mirrored his own?  They'd both seen terrible things in their lives, been through so much... but Yuri realized perhaps for the first time just how fucking lucky he'd been.

 

When his parents had abandoned him, he'd had a loving grandfather to take care of him.  When his grandpa had died, Victor had swept in like something out of a fairy tale and put him back together.  No one had forced him to do anything he didn't want to.  The only person tormenting him had been himself.  He'd been able to pair his natural talent with a grueling work ethic to make himself the very best he could be.  Who and what he was now was a  _ blessing _ .

 

All this time, he'd been so eager to focus on the wrongs that had been done to him, to the tragedies he'd suffered.  He'd thought everything was about  _ him _ .  And for once, he was being forced to see someone else's pain.   _ Otabek _ was the strong one.  He was the one who'd been resilient, who hadn't let himself become bitter or angry.  He was an amazing musician, a good man, and somehow, he wanted Yuri in his life.

 

Yuri was going to make sure he showed his gratitude for that gift.  He was going to support Otabek, protect him, stand by him, no matter what.

 

XX 

 

Yuri and Victor wanted Otabek to take the next week off of school, but he just shrugged and said he would be fine.  Thankfully, since the next day was Sunday, he had at least one day to rest.  In the morning, he finally turned his phone on and started to listen to the furious voicemails from his father.  Victor had plucked the phone from his hand, deleted all the messages, and handed it back to him without a word.

 

After breakfast, Yuri confessed that he'd shared Yuuri's secret with Otabek and left the two of them to discuss composing while he talked to Victor.  Yuri gave him the basics of what Beka had told him, including Otabek's total dependency on his father financially.  As expected, Victor had waved that concern aside immediately.  Even if he wasn't wealthy, Yuri had no doubt that Victor would have gone out of his way to make sure Otabek got on his feet.

 

The clothes Beka was wearing were borrowed from Victor (the sweatpants too long and the t shirt too tight, but he was grateful for them anyways), and he knew he would need his own clothes at least if he was going to stay with Yuri.  When he mentioned going back home to pick up clothes as well as a few personal items, both Yuri's and Victor objected strongly.

 

“We don't think that's a good idea,” Yuuri tried to explain calmly once the initial outburst had died down.  “Your father is probably still very angry, and it will only get worse when he realizes you're leaving.  There's no need for you to risk getting hurt any worse.”

 

“I-” Otabek stopped, clenching his fists uselessly as a wave of shame rolled through him.  “I can stop him, you know.  If it gets too bad.  I'm not weak.”

 

“Beka!” Yuri gasped.

 

“No one thinks that, Otabek.  The point is that you shouldn't have to be in that position to begin with.  I'll go and collect your things.  I have a few things I want to say to your father, anyway.”  The Ice King glint was back in his eyes, and Yuuri quickly put his hand on Victor's arm as if already restraining him. 

 

“And I'll go with him to make sure everyone behaves themselves.  Violence is never the answer.”

 

“I don't disagree with you, but my father won't see it that way.  I don't like to think he would... do anything, but when you tell him what you're there for, when he realizes that you know about- about the way things are, then there's no telling what he'll do.  I can't risk either of you-”

 

“You don't have to worry about either of us coming to any harm, Beka.  There will be two of us there, and you know I would never let anything hurt Yuuri.  Besides, I'm a champion kick boxer.”  He grinned wolfishly, and Yuri nodded.

 

“It's true.”

 

“Not that it will come to that.  No one will be doing anything more physical than lifting bags,” Yuuri said calmly.  “This doesn't have to be a big deal.  We will just go get your things, have a conversation, and be on our way.”

 

“While we're gone, you two can set up one of the guest rooms for Otabek.  In all the commotion last night we failed utterly in our duty as hosts.  But there's an empty guest room right next to Yuri's-”

 

“He's going to stay in my room.”  Yuri took Otabek's hand and stared Victor down, as if daring him to protest.  Yuuri looked between the two of them and blushed.

 

“Of course you're welcome to share, if you'd rather.  I just thought it would be nice for Beka to have a place of his own to go if he needs some quiet, or to study.  I know he's a private person, and he's had to deal with a lot the last few days.”

 

“Oh.”  Yuri's face pinched and he felt like an ass.  “Yeah, that makes sense.  Probably a good idea.”

 

Victor grinned.  “Did you think I was going to try and stop the two of you sleeping together?”  He laughed softly, almost a giggle.  It made Yuri grit his teeth.  “You're an adult now, Yuri.  Plus, I remember what it was like to be young and in love.  Hell, I know what it's like to be  _ old _ and in love!”  He put his arm around Yuuri, who blushed again.  “Just remember to be safe.  There are condoms in the hall closet if you two aren't monogamous yet or-”

 

“ _ Ohmigod _ !  Shut the fuck up!”  Even Yuri was blushing, and the tips of Otabek's ears had turned pink.

 

“We should go,” Yuuri murmured, clearing his throat nervously.  Victor just laughed again and agreed.  He and Yuuri left a few moments later, promising to be back soon.  Yuri trudged up the stairs, not sure if he was more mortified that now he knew where Victor kept his condoms, or the fact that he thought Yuri and Otabek would be needing them.

 

_ Would _ they be needing them?

 

He stopped outside the room next to his and opened the door.  “Uh, we can put your stuff in here, if you like.  I guess I should have asked you about the room thing.  I just assumed- but, I mean, we haven't even-”

 

“No, I want to,” Otabek said softly.  Suddenly, the tips of his ears turned pink again.  “Share your room, I mean.  For sleeping.  Real sleeping.  Not that I don't want- uh, maybe we should just go sit down.”  He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

 

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”  Yuri led them into his room and sat on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chin.  Otabek glanced at the chair, but decided to sit at the foot of the bed instead.

 

“So... we should probably talk about this, right?”

 

“We don't have to.”

 

“Would you rather we didn't?”

 

“Yes.  I mean, no.  Not that I don't want to. It's just- ugh!  Talking isn't really our thing!  We don't discuss this kind of shit.”

 

“I know,” Beka agreed. “But this isn't something I want to just make assumptions about.  I want to be sure that you're... totally comfortable with it.  With any of it.”

 

“Goddamn it, why do you have to be so fucking considerate?” Yuri grumbled.  “Alright,  _ fine _ .  Yes, I want to do that stuff with you.  All of it.  And we already agreed we are dating, which both of us know means monogamously, plus I haven't done this shit with anyone else so there's no need for condoms on my end and if you say one goddamn thing about me admitting that to you I'll kick you off this bed I swear to fucking god.”

 

Otabek's eyes widened, his brain finally comprehending Yuri's run-on rant.  “Oh!”  He realized his mouth was open and snapped it shut.  Yuri was looking very intently at the pattern on his tiger striped socks.  “Okay, well, I have.  Done this before, I mean.  But not for a long time, not since my last check up.  So I guess it's just a personal preference, then.  Not that we really have to do anything that would use them, anyways, unless we wanted.”

 

“I already said-”

 

“I mean there are other ways of being... together.  That's not really the end-all-be-all of intimacy.  Especially-”

 

Yuri raised a brow.  “Especially between two men?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Yeah, well just because I haven't actually  _ done _ any of it doesn't mean I haven't  _ watched  _ it.  I know what I want.  What I think I'll like.  And unless I've totally misjudged you here, I think it'll match up pretty well with what you'll want, too.”  He glanced up at Otabek, his eyes a little overly bright, then back at his socks again.

 

“O-okay,” Otabek agreed.  “Okay, then.  I guess we've got all that figured out.”  He shifted on the bed, suddenly very aware of the fact that if not for the constant ache in his ribs, he would be incredibly turned on at that moment.

 

“Good.”  Yuri huffed, then muttered under his breath about  _ talking  _ and  _ stupid feelings _ .  A curl of warmth spread out in Otabek's chest, and he felt his lips twitch up into a smile.  He moved closer to Yuri's side, then took his chin gently and turned it so that they were eye to eye.

 

“And Yuri,” he whispered, voice huskier than normal, pupils wide with desire, “I'm glad I'll be your first.”

 

XX

 

Victor was rather proud of himself.  He'd managed to confront the child-beating bastard that was Otabek's father and not put his fist through the other man's face.  He'd wanted to.   _ Really _ , really wanted to.  But as soon as they'd knocked on the door, Yuuri's hand had rested on his arm, as if reminding him to tread lightly.

 

The encounter had gone about the way Victor had expected it would.  Otabek's father was polite at first, then cold when he realized that they weren't there to exchange pleasantries.  He'd feigned confusion when they told him why they'd come.  Then, as he saw that they were serious, that they  _ knew _ , his brittle facade had slipped away to reveal the violent beast underneath.  Otabek's mother, who had been hovering in the background, fled to the kitchen and didn't reappear.

 

They'd gotten a bag of clothes packed for Otabek as well as the personal belongings he'd asked for, before Mr Altin snapped and tried to throw a punch at Victor.  The man was stocky, with brawny shoulders that conveyed brute force, but Victor hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said he was a champion kick boxer.  He'd sidestepped the blow and knocked Otabek's father to his knees before he even had a chance to pull back a second time.

 

While Victor had him on his knees, he asked Yuuri to find Mrs Altin and talk to her, giving the two of them a chance to have a few words alone.  With an uncertain look back, Yuuri complied, heading into the kitchen to offer the frightened woman a few business cards of domestic violence shelters as well as his personal number.  Victor knotted his hand in Mr Altin's hair and jerked the man's head up so that they could see each other's eyes.  He wanted to be as clear as possible as he spoke his mind.  He told Otabek's father exactly what he thought of him, and what he would do if the man ever laid a hand on Otabek again.

 

When they left, Victor was only too glad to go.  He could barely stand to be in the same room as the bastard.  In the truck, he realized his hands were still shaking slightly with suppressed emotion.  Yuuri noticed it, too.

 

“I know that was hard on you, but you did the right thing.”

 

“I know that logically, but it doesn't help much at the moment.  Yuri told me that it started to get bad when Otabek started playing.  He was  _ ten _ .  So small and helpless and  _ trusting _ .  Kids look up to their parents, see them as the whole world.  To abuse that power, to hurt them like that...”  He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, wishing it was Mr Altin's nose.  “God, it just infuriates me.  And even now, Otabek is  _ bigger _ than him.  But it kept going on because he'd had it drilled into him to not fight back.  To let that bastard do whatever he wanted, as if Beka  _ deserved _ it.  As if his dad had the  _ right _ .  And it's probably going to take  _ years _ to undo the damage that man did.  For Otabek to stop tensing when anyone except Yuri touches him, to accept that he didn't deserve to be treated like that.  And now we get to go home and tell him that we couldn't bring back his bike, which was the main thing he wanted, because his father is a petty  _ fuck _ who destroyed it when Otabek didn't come home last night.”

 

“I know,” was all Yuuri said.  What else could he say?  He agreed with it all.  The fact that he'd been so focused on keeping Victor from tearing the man to shreds was probably the only reason Yuuri himself hadn't given in to the urge, and Yuuri had never considered himself a violent person.  In the years that he'd been teaching, he'd grown close to a few of his students.  He'd even felt a little protective, a little paternal, about some of them.  But they were all adults, and he'd never had to handle this type of situation before.  The fact that it had been happening right under his nose, that Otabek had sat in his class more than once hiding bruises and welts beneath his shirt, made Yuuri feel ill.

 

“Well, he's one of mine, now,” Victor stated flatly.  “If his father wants to get at him again he'll have to go through me.”

 

“I understand the sentiment, but I don't think you can adopt a twenty year old.”

 

“Just because you turn eighteen doesn't mean you stop needing help, or support, or  _ love _ .  Yuri will always be mine, no matter how old he gets.  You're mine too, you know.”  Victor raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed it softly.

 

“Just another poor stray you picked up?” Yuuri asked, his tone teasing.

 

“You're not just a stray, Yuuri.  You're the love of my life.  You're a good man, an amazingly talented musician, the best composer of the decade, and I'm lucky enough to be the one you choose to be with.”

 

Yuuri didn't know what to say.  He blushed under the praise and squeezed Victor's hand tightly.  “I'm glad you're the one I get to come home to,” he mumbled, somewhat abashed.

 

“ _ Would _ you come home to me?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean would you consider making my house your home.  Permanently.”

 

“A-are you asking me to move in with you?”

 

“I am.”

 

“I- but- Victor, it's so  _ soon _ .”

 

“I think I've loved you almost from the first moment we met, Yuuri.  I know I'm flighty and impulsive, but I'm also thirty years old.  I don't have any doubts about what I want.  And what I want... is you.  All the time and for the rest of time.  If you're ready, too.”

 

“Are you sure?” Yuuri whispered, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.  It was like some sort of fairy tale come to life.  It was already so surreal that Victor wanted to be with him, wanted to hold him and kiss him and talk with him into the wee hours of the morning.  Asking for any more than that seemed like some sort of hubris.

 

“I've never been more sure of anything in my life.”

 

“If you're sure...” Yuuri took a breath and let it out slowly.  “Then yes.”  He said it so softly that at first Victor wasn't sure he'd heard it.

 

“Yes?  Yes you'll move in with me?”

 

He sounded so excited that Yuuri couldn't help but smile.  “Yes I'll move in.”

 

“Really, Yuuri?  You mean it?”  He looked like a child who'd just been told Christmas was coming early.  Yuuri laughed, the joy infectious.

 

“Really.  Once we get Otabek settled in, I'll start bringing things over.”

 

XX

Victor and Yuuri decided to keep their news from the boys for the time being.  Otabek was going through so much and they worried if they brought it up, he would feel like an imposition.

At first, Victor worried he was going to have a hard time keeping the delight from showing on his face as soon as they walked through the door, but pulling into the driveway without Otabek's motorcycle in the back of the truck put them back into somber moods.  When they walked in, both boys were waiting in the living room, Otabek's knee jumping in an uncharacteristic show of nerves.  Victor and Yuuri sat down the bags they'd carried in and tried to give what they hoped were reassuring smiles.

“Well that went as well as could be expected,” Victor exclaimed.

“There weren't any... altercations?” Otabek asked hesitantly.  Yuuri looked like he was about to say something, but Victor spoke up again.

“Nothing of any consequence.  We were able to get clothes for you as well as most of the personal belongings you asked for.  Yuuri had a chance to talk to your mother, and she has both his number as well as my own.  Your father even gave me a check that he said was your earnings from performances over the years.  I dropped it off at the bank already, so we should take you down on Monday and get an account set up for you for me to transfer the money into.”  He smiled a little too widely, a little too cheerfully, and waited as if daring anyone to contradict him.

All three of the other men in the room knew that Mr Altin hadn't given Victor any money.  Even if he'd done it while Yuuri was in the kitchen with Mrs Altin, they certainly hadn't stopped by the bank on the way back home.  Yuri and Otabek both knew that Beka's father would never have given him money, especially not what he'd earned from his performances – which Mr Altin had always automatically seen as his own.  He wouldn't have done anything that would make Otabek getting away from him easier.  So unless Victor had somehow forced him to write a check, then the story about the money was a lie.  But it wasn't like there was any way to prove that.  All Otabek could do was say it wasn't believable and try not to accept the money, but he could already see by the gleam in Victor's eyes that it would be a waste of time.  Still, the idea of accepting Victor's money, especially after everything he'd already done for Otabek, seemed somehow unethical.

Yuri watched the two of them exchanging looks and decided to change the subject before Otabek could protest.  “Why don't we go out and get your bike in the garage, Beka?  I think it was supposed to rain toni-” he stopped, confused by the expression on Yuuri and Victor's faces.  “What?”

“Otabek,” Yuuri started softly, wishing he could put a comforting hand on Otabek's shoulder but knowing it would only make him nervous.  “We... we didn't bring your motorcycle back with us.”

“What?  Why?”  It was Yuri who spoke again.  Otabek had frozen.  He already knew the awful truth before Yuuri said it.

“It seems there was... an incident.  Your bike wasn't salvageable.  I'm so sorry.”

“He destroyed it,” Otabek murmured flatly.

“I'm sorry,” Yuuri repeated, hating the way Otabek had utterly deflated.

“Thank you for getting my things.  Both of you.”  His voice was monotone and lifeless, even though he tried to convey his gratitude.  So his bike was gone.  Yes, it was the only thing that had gotten him through the last few years, but it was just an object.  He'd built that one, he could do the same with another.  And besides, he had Yuri now.  He had people who cared for him.  It was going to be fine.  Still, he felt as if he'd just had his wings clipped.  It was a crushing loss.  Stiffly, he grabbed the bags and headed out of the room.

“Beka-” Victor started, wanting to say something, anything, to help.

“Leave him,” Yuri urged.  “He doesn't like to talk about this stuff.  He just needs some time.”  When Victor nodded, he followed Otabek out, taking the bags from him on the way so that he didn't injure his ribs more.  When they got up to Yuri's room, Otabek sat on the bed while Yuri began automatically hanging clothes up in the closet.  When he finished, Beka was still staring blankly at the wall.  Yuri felt his heart breaking all over again.  Without a word, he sat next to Otabek on the bed and put his arms around him.  At first, Beka remained rigid, but after a while, he relaxed against Yuri.  He let the pain and anger wash over him, allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for a moment or two, then tucked it all neatly away again.  He looked down at the man holding him, thought about the two downstairs that until just a few months ago had been strangers except by reputation.  All of them had shown more care for him, more respect and love, than Otabek's biological family had during his whole life.

Suddenly, more than the confusion, the doubt, the hurt and fear, what he felt more than anything was affection and thankfulness.


	5. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short Haiku about this chapter:
> 
> Smut smut smut smut smut  
> Smut angst feels smut smut smut smut  
> Smut smut feels feels feels

By the end of the next week, things had settled into a kind of normalcy.  Yuuri had offered to work with Otabek on composition after school while Yuri did extra training.  They would all arrive home around the same time to find Victor in the middle of a new culinary experiment.  Some were surprisingly successful.  Others... well, they had several places that delivered on speed dial.  They would all have dinner together, like a patchwork family, then Otabek and Yuri would go off to do homework or talk, leaving the older two to spend their evenings with each other.

 

Yuuri had started slowly bringing his things to the house.  They had decided to give it one more week before making it official and moving the furniture in.  Every time either of them thought about it, they got big, sappy grins on their faces.  They argued about things like which of them was luckier, and who loved the other more.  Yuri would gag and complain any time he heard them, but they both knew it was an indulgent kind of protest.

 

For the first time in Otabek's life, he had money of his own – technically it was money of Victor's, but he was still unable to prove that – and no one to answer to except himself.  Yuuri had brought home the frame of a Ducati 916 that he claimed a friend had been about to scrap and suggested that Otabek rebuild it.  He strongly suspected that it hadn't been free, as Yuuri had insisted, and that if they thought they could get away with it, Yuuri and Victor would have just bought him a new bike.

 

Despite their generosity making  him a little uncomfortable, Beka was still excited to start working on the project.  He already missed the feel of being on a motorcycle, the freedom of being able to go anywhere at all.  Yuri had even expressed interest in learning about bikes, and Otabek was more than happy to teach him.  Since his ribs had healed enough to allow for physical activity, the two of them were going to start on it that weekend. 

 

Saturday morning found Yuri and Otabek wound around each other as sunlight streamed in through the open window.  Yuri wasn't really a morning person, but had gotten used to rising early for his training schedule, so he was the first to open his eyes.  He squinted against the light and tucked his face against Beka's chest, cuddling closer as he clung to the last vestiges of sleep.  Something hard and hot pressed against his belly and he wiggled a little, trying to shift it away before suddenly realizing what it was.  His entire face flamed bright red and he thanked his lucky stars Otabek was still asleep and hadn't noticed him basically grinding against his erection.  Not that Beka would mind... right?

 

They hadn't discussed sex again since Victor's embarrassing condom speech, but now that Otabek's ribs were healed, that meant they could... potentially...  _ do _ stuff.  The idea was nerve wracking and exciting and almost unbearably  _ arousing _ .  Would Beka want to ease into things?  Have them get each other off with their hands, or their mouths?  Or maybe they would jump right to the main event and then go back to the other stuff once they'd already done it.  Maybe they could stay up all night and just do everything.  Yuri had a healthy amount of stamina, plus with the excitement of it being his first time, he thought he could probably get two or three off over the course of a night.  He wondered how many Beka could do.  He wondered what Beka looked like there.

 

It was easy enough to get an idea of what he felt like.  All Yuri had to do was scoot closer again, press his hips forward just a little, and then-  He gasped softly as his own cock brushed against Otabek's.  A zing of pleasure spiked through him and he pulled back quickly before he lost all sense of self control.  Just then, Otabek mumbled something and rolled closer.  He wrapped his arms around Yuri, heedless of the fact that he'd just trapped their erections together between them.  Yuri stayed perfectly still, feeling oddly guilty about their positions even though he hadn't been the one to instigate it.

 

“Uh, Beka?” he whispered.  Otabek held him a little tighter.

 

“Mm?” 

 

“You awake?”

 

“Gettin' there.  G'morning.”  He yawned, stretching slightly with Yuri still in his arms.  His hips pushed a little more forward before quickly jerking back.  “Shit. Sorry.”  Otabek rolled to his back and threw his arm over his eyes to hide his embarrassment.

 

“It's okay.”  Yuri considered for a moment, weighing his options, then took a risk.  He swung his leg over Otabek's waist and straddled him.  If the soft hiss Beka let out between his  clenched teeth was any indication, he liked the pressure of Yuri's weight against him.  “Morning,” he greeted back.  A slow smile spread across Otabek's face.

 

“Sleep well?” he asked, his casual words totally at odds with how affected his body was by Yuri's position.

 

“Fantastic, actually.  You?”  Yuri leaned down so that he could fold his hands together on Otabek's chest and rest his chin on them.  He rolled his hips a little, making both their cocks jump.

 

“G-good.  Really good.”  Pleasure curled in Beka's stomach.  He untangled his hands from the blankets and let them rest on Yuri's backside, urging him even closer.  “Still want to work on the bike with me today?”

 

“Of course.  I'm dying for a ride, you know.”  Yuri rolled his hips again, delighting when Beka's grip on him grew almost bruising.  Otabek groaned, finally giving up on pretending to be unaffected.

 

“You're a shameless tease.”

 

“It's only teasing if I don't intend to follow through.  And I  _ do _ intend to follow through.”

 

Otabek's eyes flew wide.  “Right now?”  He sounded half eager and half terrified.

 

“Hmm...”  Yuri bit his lip and swiveled his pelvis, pretending to consider.  “Maybe not right at this moment, since Victor is going to be bumbling around the kitchen any minute now.  But soon.  Tonight?”

 

“Tonight?  Really?  Are you sure you're ready?”

 

“I've been ready.  I'm sure.”  He kissed Beka softly, then let out a startled squeak when Otabek rolled swiftly, pinning Yuri beneath him.  They kissed again, Yuri's giggle getting caught between them.

 

“How the hell am I supposed to focus on  _ anything _ today when I know what I'll be going to bed to?”

 

“You'll just have to try your best.  And of course, I won't be doing anything to make it harder for you to concentrate.  No teasing.” He pressed another kiss to the corner of Beka's mouth.  “No flirting.”  Another kiss.  “No innuendo or seductive looks.”  Another kiss, then an innocent smile.

 

“You're a goddamn liar,” Otabek laughed.  Yuri's smile turned into a smirk.

 

“Of course,” he grinned.

 

“You're going to be the death of me.”

 

“No, you'll survive.  You have too much to live for.”

 

“Damn right, I do.”

 

They finally managed to peel themselves apart and had breakfast with Victor and Yuuri before heading out to the garage.  It housed Victor's much hated (by Yuri, at least) pink convertible, the truck, and Yuri's far more practical four door sedan.  Yuuri had left his Jeep in the driveway the night before, knowing that the boys would be wanting to use one of the garage stalls to work on the motorcycle.

 

Otabek was impressed at the number of tools and auto supplies Victor owned, for all that he wasn't really interested in mechanics.  But, he did like to take care of what he owned, so Otabek supposed that included his vehicles.  He started in on the bike right away, stripping away old pieces that would need replaced and cleaning up the bits that could be salvaged.  He explained various parts to Yuri, what they were, how they worked, why they were important.  After a while, Yuri put on some music and brought out snacks for them.  He watched, fascinated, as Beka used those strong, nimble fingers of his to manipulate tiny pieces of machinery or to pull apart rusted pieces of metal.  His breath caught as Otabek's biceps bulged while he worked on a tightly stuck bit of the engine.

 

Yuri had planned to be the one doing the seducing, but he was starting to get a little impatient himself.  His mind kept wandering back to what they had planned for that night.  More than once, he considered just dragging Beka into the house for a nooner, but he wasn't sure either of them wanted their first time together to be a quickie.  It wasn't like he was expecting flowers and candles and shit, but maybe something more than a rushed fumble with one ear out for Victor or Yuuri would be better.

 

If not for the fact that he was genuinely interested in what Beka was doing on the bike, the day would have dragged on.  As it was, Victor had needed to remind them to stop for lunch – tsking on his way inside about the amount of grease on their hands – and then before they really noticed it, dusk had fallen.  Normally, all of them ate dinner together as a family, but Yuuri had sagely suggested they just order take away and everyone could eat whenever they were ready.

 

When Yuri realized the time, he suggested they go inside and see what Victor and Yuuri had left for them out of the food that had been ordered.  They were both surprised by the amount, (they had discovered that Yuuri had a surprisingly voracious appetite for such a fit man) and ate their meals standing in the kitchen, discussing what Otabek would do next on the bike.  It wasn't until they had headed back to the bedroom that Yuri started to get nervous.  He'd been on edge, excited, eager even, for most of the day.  But now that...  _ that _ was only a few minutes away instead of several hours, antsy butterflies seemed to be flitting around in his stomach.  It was stupid, really.  What did he have to be nervous about?  He was confident enough in his looks.  More than once he'd gotten a warm thrill from noticing Beka's eyes lingering on his chest or groin.  And since he'd made it pretty clear that he wanted to be in the more passive role of their union, it wasn't as though he had to worry about being  _ bad  _ at it.  If he got overly excited and came too soon, Beka could still finish, so there wasn't any pressure on him to perform a certain way.

 

Wasn't the main thing to be worried about supposed to be if it would hurt or not?  But on that aspect, Yuri had hardly any fear at all.  Otabek would  _ never _ intentionally hurt him, and since he was the more experienced of them – the jealous side of Yuri wanted to hate that, but he was actually grateful because it would make things so much easier this time – he would know how to make sure everything went smoothly.

 

So what was Yuri nervous about?

 

“I'm going to take a shower,” he grumbled to Otabek, snatching a clean pair of boxers from his dresser and stalking to the bathroom that adjoined the bedroom.  He closed the door before Beka could reply and forced himself to really think about what he was feeling as he stepped under the spray of hot water.

 

It was irrational.  That much he knew.  He'd already dismissed all the logical reasons he might have had to be nervous.  So that just left  _ ill _ ogical reasons.  That pissed him off all the more.  Since there wasn't really anything to worry about, he should be able to take control and shut the nerves out.  Except... except doubt was still creeping along inside him, whispering malicious words in his brain.  What if Otabek didn't like it?  What if Yuri said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing, and Beka realized they weren't right for each other after all?  What if he made some embarrassing sex moans or something, and Otabek laughed at him?   _ He wouldn't ever do something like that, you idiot _ .  What if he got stupid and emotional and did something as mortifying as  _ crying _ after they were done?

 

For a moment, Yuri let himself get so worked up that he seriously considered going back into the bedroom and calling the whole thing off.  Strangely, it was that idea that calmed him down.  Not because he actually wanted to call it off.  But the realization that if he  _ did _ , Otabek wouldn't protest.  He would be disappointed, sure, but he wouldn't fight it, wouldn't try and guilt or pressure Yuri into changing his mind.  He would wait until Yuri was ready.  And just like that, the tension eased from Yuri's shoulders.  He stepped out of the shower, toweled himself off, and slipped into boxers that he hoped he would be shedding again in the not too distant future.

 

“Everything okay?” Beka asked as he returned to the bedroom.  Yuri smiled at him and nodded, ruffling his hair with a towel to help dry it.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Otabek watched him for a moment, as if trying to decide if he really meant it, then nodded.  “Alright.  I should probably hop in the shower too.  I don't want to get grease all over... everything.”  He swallowed hard, glancing at Yuri and then to the bathroom door.  “Yeah.  Just give me a minute.”  Yuri laughed as Beka shuffled into the bathroom, the tips of his ears pink.  Apparently, Yuri wasn't the only one who'd been suffering from nerves.

 

Yuri sprawled out on the bed.  He shifted to his side and propped his head in the heel of his hand, then bent one knee like a pose from a Playboy.  It looked absolutely absurd, he was certain.  He laughed and shifted again, relaxing into a more natural position.  How long would Otabek be in the damn shower?  Now that he'd gotten past his doubts, he was eager to get on with it.  He'd already snuck down to the linen closet and found an unopened bottle of lubricant (not that he'd really needed to be secretive about it, but  _ god _ he hadn't wanted to have that discussion with Victor again) and stashed it in the bedside table.

 

Suddenly, he wondered if Otabek was getting himself off in the shower so that he could last longer with Yuri.  The thought had him equally aroused and frustrated.  His suddenly aching erection made it very clear that he liked the image it created, but he didn't want Beka doing that on his own in the shower like he was hiding it.  They could do it together.  Yuri could help.  He found himself licking his lip at just the thought of it.

 

Finally, he heard the shower switch off and a moment later Otabek appeared wearing a towel around his waist.  Yuri's mouth went dry.  Was he  _ naked _ under there?  He had to be, right?  He wouldn't wear a damp towel over his underwear.  It wasn't like they hadn't seen each other in various states of undress before.  Usually they slept together in just boxers or sleep pants, and they weren't shy about changing in front of each other.  But somehow, it suddenly seemed all the more intimate.

 

Yuri realized he'd been staring at Otabek's crotch for far longer than was socially acceptable and jerked his gaze up.  There was color high on Beka's cheeks, but he still grinned teasingly.  “If you want to see that bad, all you have to do is ask.”

 

“Shut up,” Yuri grumbled.  “Are you just going to stand there all day, or are you coming to bed?”

 

“I'm coming, I'm coming.”  He perched on the edge of the bed and paused, rubbing the back of his neck.  “On a serious note, though, we don't have to-”

 

“ _ Beka _ -”

 

“No, I mean it.  You seemed... off... earlier.  You know we don't have to rush.”  His eyes darted to the bottle of lube and then back to Yuri's face.

 

“I was just letting stupid shit get to me.  Really,” he assured when Otabek didn't look entirely convinced.  “You'd think it was ridiculous if I talked about it, so let's just let it go, okay?  It was a bunch of insecurities that were totally meaningless.  I want to do this.  I want you.”  He paused, and after a beat, Beka nodded.  “Now stop making me wait.  I hate waiting.”

 

Otabek leaned over Yuri, caging him against the bed and kissed him lightly.  “Maybe I'll make you wait in other ways, then, since you're so impatient.”  The gleam in his gaze told Yuri exactly what he meant.

 

“You wouldn't,” Yuri hissed, eyes narrowed.

 

“Maybe I would.  Maybe I want to see you a desperate, needy mess beneath me before I let you come.”

 

Yuri groaned, unable to help himself.  The image Beka's words put into his mind was incredibly erotic.  The idea of Otabek totally dominating him, making Yuri beg for release, had him aching with want.  He wrapped his arms around Otabek and kissed him, then tugged the towel away.  “Do your worst,” he challenged. Otabek kissed him back, hard and urgent.  When he let his weight press Yuri into the bed, they both moaned.  The feel of Otabek's naked erection against Yuri's bare skin was hypnotizing, making them both need more.  Yuri's hands roved Otabek's back, fingers digging into the taut muscles.  Beka let his own hands wander, gripping Yuri's hair, stroking down his chest and stomach, teasing down to his thigh and then hitching Yuri's leg up over his hip so that they were even more intimately pressed together.  Yuri needed no more encouragement than that.  He wrapped the other leg around Otabek's waist as well, lifting his hips rhythmically.  Otabek's fingers skated back up, lingering on the sharp jut of Yuri's hip bones before sliding around and caressing his back just above the band of his boxers.  

 

Impatient, Yuri gripped Beka's wrist and urged his hand down until it slid beneath the fabric and Otabek was gripping the firm curve of Yuri's ass.  He inhaled sharply and didn't try to fight the way his hips bucked.  Yuri's skin was like silk, hot and smooth and so perfect that Otabek wanted nothing more than to sink his  _ teeth _ into it.  He fought the urge, realizing his mouth was pressed against the crook of Yuri's shoulder and it would be far too easy just to bite and mark-

 

“Off,” Yuri muttered, tugging at the boxers he still wore.  Beka pulled back half an inch and Yuri took full advantage, twisting so that he could push the offending material over his hips and kick them off the bed.  Then he gripped Otabek's waist and pulled them back together, skin to skin.  “Touch me,” he breathed, feeling drugged by his desire and helpless to fight it.  “Touch me everywhere.”

 

Otabek was only too happy to oblige, his hands brushing over every inch of that smooth alabaster skin.  His lips followed, kissing and sucking.  After teasing him with slow licks to Yuri's inner thighs, Otabek drew his tongue up the length of Yuri's cock and then began to suck on the tip.  Yuri's breath stuttered in his chest and then exploded out in a cry of pleasure.  His hands gripped Beka's shoulders as he writhed beneath him.  Otabek had barely gotten into a rhythm of sucking before Yuri pushed him back.

 

“I'm-” he was gasping for air, face flushed and eyes wild.  Otabek didn't think he'd ever seen a more erotic sight.  “If you keep doing that, I'm going to-”

 

“I know,” Otabek murmured, drawing the flat of his tongue up and over Yuri again, thrilling in the way he mewled helplessly.  “Just let me take care of you for this first one, then you won't be so tense and we can take our time giving you another.”  He lowered his head again, preparing to take Yuri back into his mouth, but Yuri stopped him.  

 

“Is that what you did in the shower?  Got one out of the way so you'd be more...” he trailed off, and the slight look of embarrassment on Otabek's face answered his question more than the nod he gave.  “Don't next time,” he ordered firmly.  “If you're going to do that, I want to see it.  I want to- to help.”

 

Otabek felt his heart rate kick up a notch and he nodded slowly.  He could do that.  He could definitely do that.  “I promise.”  When Yuri have a nod of acknowledgment, Otabek went back to pleasuring Yuri with his mouth, drawing him deep and then leaving teasing licks at his tip.  Yuri whispered his name, then began to chant it amid curses and pleas.  Knowing he was close, Otabek cupped his hands beneath Yuri's ass and tilted his hips up, taking his cock deep and sucking hard.  Yuri's legs tightened around Beka's ears and he let out a hoarse cry, his body tensing and releasing in jerking waves.

 

When he finally felt coherent enough to form words, Yuri looked down to find Otabek wiping excess moisture off his lips and smiling.  “Stop looking so smug,” he demanded, but the words lost any harshness at the sensual purr in his voice and the little laugh lines around his eyes. “Get up here.”

 

Beka obliged, crawling up Yuri's body until he'd blanketed it with his own.  He pressed light kisses to the corner of Yuri's mouth, mindful of the fact that Yuri might not want to make out considering what his mouth had just been doing, but Yuri ignored that entirely and pulled Beka closer.  Their tongues tangled.  Their breath mingled.  Their bodies strained towards each others, not sharply and urgently, but with a slow, languid desire that built into a fierce ache.

 

Amid their kissing and caressing, Yuri felt himself grow hard again, more sooner than even he would have expected.  He reached out blindly towards the nightstand to grab for the little bottle there and then transfer it to Otabek's hand.  There was a moment where they both laughed over not being able to get the damn seal off the bottle, then the laughter turned into moans as cool slickness spread over them both.  

 

Otabek made a slow, almost lazy exploration of Yuri's erogenous zones.  While his lips moved from the shell of his ear, to his throat, then down to his Yuri's nipples, his hand gripped and stroked and delved.  He dipped low to press his slick finger against Yuri and then had to bite back a curse when tight heat engulfed the digit.  Already his cock felt as though it was going to burst.  Carefully, he replaced one finger with two, easing them in and out to the rhythm Yuri was setting with his hips.  When he added a third, Yuri's body contracted sharply, a low moan falling from his lips, and Otabek found himself sucking hard on Yuri's collar bone as he fought not to lose control.

 

“More,” Yuri gasped, his voice desperate and shaky.  “Fuck me.”

 

And just like that, all of Otabek's restraint evaporated.  He needed to be inside Yuri.  Needed it more than his next breath, or the next beat of his heart.  He pulled his hand away, ignoring Yuri's protest, then knelt up.  “Turn over.”  Yuri looked up at him curiously, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide.  “I want to see you- god, I want to see your face while I fuck you, but this will be easier for you if you're on your hands and knees.  Especially the first time.”

 

Yuri hesitated, considering defying him, then turned over.  He dropped to his hands and knees and pushed his hips backwards enticingly.  Otabek's softly groaned ' _ fuck _ ' was compensation enough for the position change and Yuri smirked.  Then, Otabek had fitted the tip of his cock against Yuri and his mouth went slack.  He fisted his hands in the sheets while Beka slowly, carefully, excruciatingly cautiously, pressed forward.  Otabek's hands were gripping his hips as if using them to hold himself back, but then he slipped one around and began to stroke Yuri's cock as his ingress continued.

 

It was the most sharp, intense sensation Yuri had ever felt in his life.  Everything had condensed down to that one part of him, heat quickly burning out of control, enough to scorch, to overwhelm, but Yuri found he couldn't get  _ enough _ of it.  He was shaking, body wracked with pleasure and yet over-sensitized so much that he feared anything more would cause him to fly apart, to burst at the seams and never be fitted back together again.  As if he knew what Yuri was feeling, Otabek stayed perfectly still.  He allowed Yuri time to adjust, waited until the rhythmic clenching of his muscles had eased.  And yet still longer, he waited.

 

Yuri grew impatient.  There was more, so much more just out of his reach, he was sure.  With a soft huff, he shifted slightly forward and then back again, impaling himself on Otabek's cock.  Pleasure spiked through him, sharp and sweet.

 

“ _ Fuck! _  Yura-”  Otabek's voice was rough, his breathing ragged.  “You feel so.  _ Fucking. Good. _ ” Yuri glanced over his shoulder to see Otabek had his head thrown back, his teeth digging into his lip as he struggled for control.

 

“Give me more,” Yuri panted, repeating the move and thrilling in Otabek's reaction.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“Fuck yes.”

 

Otabek's hand started stroking Yuri's cock in earnest and he began to thrust in time with the movements.  Once, twice, a third time, Otabek brushed against something inside him that made Yuri see white, but it was too much, too intense.  He canted his hips down, seeking relief from the pressure, and then let himself be carried along the riptide of pleasure as he was filled and stroked in a desperate rhythm.  Otabek's thrusts grew erratic and he groaned Yuri's name.

 

“I'm so close,” he breathed roughly.  “I want to come inside you, fill you up-”  His wicked words were cut off by Yuri's sudden shout of pleasure.  The dual sensations in combination with hearing Otabek talking to him like that had shot Yuri into bliss faster than he could have thought possible.  He slammed his hips back against Beka several more times as his cock jerked and spilled, his body clenching tightly with each spurt.  Otabek wanted to focus solely on the pleasure of bringing Yuri to orgasm, to memorize the way his face looked, the sounds that dripped from his lips, but he knew it was a lost cause.  His own orgasm roared through him and left him shaking, his cock twitching with over-stimulation until he eased out of Yuri and collapsed on the bed beside him.

 

“Holy fuck,” Yuri groaned, his voice muffled by the pillow he had his face buried in.

 

“Yeah,” Otabek agreed, feeling weak and utterly spent.  He let himself bask in the glow of post coital bliss for another few moments before trying to push himself up.  “I should get something for you to clean up with.”

 

“If you move from this bed right now I'll spit on you.”

 

“You'll... spit on me?”  Otabek laughed, one brow raised in confusion.

 

“Shut up, it was the best I could come up with.  I just had the sense fucked out of me.”  He shoved at Otabek's shoulder when the other man continued chuckling.  “Stay here and hold me.  I just want to...  I want to drink in the feel of you next to me.  It's- god this is sappy shit.  It just feels  _ right _ .  Hold me close, and don't you dare bring this up in the morning.”

 

“Alright, Yura,” Otabek agreed softly.  He rolled so that Yuri's back was pressed against his chest, wrapped his arms around Yuri and then threw a leg over him for good measure.  Instead of the protest of over-doing it that he expected, Yuri snuggled deeper into the embrace and let out a contented sigh.  Otabek felt his heart melt.  Yuri felt so small in his arms, so delicate and yet strong enough to beg to be fucked into the mattress.  It was an intoxicating combination.  Otabek fell asleep thinking that he was the luckiest man in the whole damn world.

 

XX

 

Dawn light filtering in through the window made Yuri squint his eyes.  He stretched a little, taking stock of various novel little aches and blushing at the memory of what had caused them.  He allowed himself several moments to indulge in the feel of Otabek wrapped around him, then slipped off the bed and padded into the shower.  He was glad Otabek had stayed with him, but not cleaning up right away had left him a sticky mess.

 

When he stepped back into the bedroom, Otabek was just starting to stir.  He kissed Beka on the forehead, then rifled through the clothes on the floor until he found a pair of sleep pants.

 

“Morning,” Beka murmured sleepily.

 

“Morning,” he greeted back, grinning and not able to stop it in the least.  He slipped one leg into the pants and was about to pull them up when he heard a sharp gasp behind him.  He quickly hiked them up and then turned, surprised to see a look of utter horror on Otabek's face.  “What?  What's wrong?”

 

“Y-your... oh my god what did I  _ do _ to you?” Beka's hand reached out towards Yuri's chest and then fell away, as if he was afraid to touch him.

 

“What do you mean?”  Yuri looked down, his heart pounding wildly.  What could possibly-  He stopped, pain gripping his heart.  “Beka, no.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Otabek hissed.  “I- I... Yura, I can't believe that I-”

 

“Beka, stop!  It's no big deal, okay?”

 

“No big- I fucking bruised you!  I- god, I think I'm going to be sick.”  He took several short, sharp breaths through his nose as if fighting off nausea.

 

“This isn't  _ anything _ .  I've got pale skin, and we were excited-”

 

“As if that's an  _ excuse _ ?  Jesus,  _ look _ at you!  I'm just like- just like-”

 

“Don't!  Don't you dare even  _ think _ that!  This is  _ nothing _ like that at all!  This is nothing!  It's normal-”

 

“Normal?  It's not normal to leave bruises on the people you love,” Otabek spat.  “I'm so, so fucking sor-”

 

“Don't apologize!” Yuri snapped.

 

“You're right.  I shouldn't expect you to... I can't even ask your-”

 

“Stop it!  Why aren't you listening to me?  There's nothing wrong with this!”  He wanted to stomp his feet in frustration.  He was so goddamn  _ happy _ , and Otabek was going through hell over a few love bites and some little bruises from where Yuri had  _ wanted _ him to hold tighter.  Fuck, this was nothing compared to how Victor looked after-  “Put some pants on,” he demanded suddenly.  Otabek's eyes widened in surprise.  “Just do it!”

 

The shock seemed to have put a slight pause on Otabek's self deprecation, because he did as Yuri asked.  Then Yuri grabbed his hand and practically dragged him down to the kitchen.  As he'd expected, Victor and Yuuri were already there.  Yuuri was sipping coffee, looking half asleep still, and Victor was frying bacon, humming softly.  He heard the commotion and turned, smiling at the sight of Yuri and Otabek.

 

“Yuri, good-”

 

“Take your shirt off,” Yuri ordered him gruffly.

 

“Huh?”  Victor stared back at him in shock. 

 

“Take your fucking shirt off!”

 

“But the bacon-”

 

“Fuck the bacon!  This is  _ important _ !”

 

Victor stayed still for half a moment, then set down the spatula and pulled his shirt off over his head with one hand.  “Would you mind telling me-”  He was cut off again by Yuri.

 

“There!  You see?  Even the fucking sheep-”

 

Otabek turned to Yuuri, who was staring at them as if they'd lost their minds.  He took a step forward almost before he realized what he'd done, anger and confusion and pain flashing across his face.  “ _ You _ did that to him?”

 

“Uh-” Yuuri sat down his coffee and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.  “Did what to him?”

 

Victor looked between them all, saw the marks on Yuri's chest and hips that were nearly identical to the ones on his own, and suddenly everything clicked into place.  “Yuuri,” he said calmly, “would you take your shirt off, too, please?”

 

Yuuri looked as if he wanted to protest – really, he wasn't overly proud of his body anyways, and he didn't see what the point of this was – but he did as Victor asked.  Otabek's eyes widened.  He looked from the smattering of hickeys and little finger shaped smudges on Yuuri's skin, back to Victor, then to Yuri.

 

“Do either of them look unhappy?” Yuri asked, going to Otabek's side and taking his hand.  “Do they look like it bothers them?  Hell, I bet they hardly notice any more.”

 

“Not true,” Victor interjected.  “I  _ love _ mine.  I keep careful track of every one.”

 

“Gag me with a spoon,” Yuri grouched.  “See?  He even  _ likes _ them.  There's nothing wrong with it.”

 

“Wrong with  _ what _ ?”  Yuuri had put his hands on his hips and stared at them expectantly.

 

“Marks,” Victor told him softly, going to Yuuri's side and tracing the faded red spot on his boyfriend's shoulder.  “Bruises.”

 

“From-  _ oh _ .”  Yuuri's eyes softened as he finally understood.  “No.  There's nothing wrong with them at all like this.  As long as everyone is happy while it's happening, it's totally normal.  It's practically unavoidable.”

 

“But-”

 

“I can understand why this would bother you, Otabek, but if Yuri tells you not to worry about it, then you should believe him.  This isn't anything like what you went through, despite how it looks.  And I think, ah, you've even got a few souvenirs of your own.”  Victor gestured to Otabek's back.  He craned his head to see light pink lines raking up his shoulders.

 

“Oh!”

 

“We're going back upstairs now, and I expect no one will say anything about this when we come back down.  And Victor, your bacon is burning.”

 

Yuri tugged Otabek from the room while Victor turned and muttered  _ shit _ at the stove.

 

They went up to the bedroom in silence, Yuri hoping against hope that Beka really got the message, and Otabek still reeling from the shock.  Inside, they both sat on the bed and looked at each other.  Slowly, Otabek reached out one hand to trace the bright mark he'd left on Yuri's collar bone.  Yuri leaned into the contact.  Then his touch trailed down to Yuri's hips, and he fitted his fingers against the bruises there.  They matched perfectly.  His stomach lurched a little, but he forced himself to relax.

 

“I'm sorry I freaked out,” he murmured, drawing his hand away.

 

“Don't be.  I understand why.  I get it.  But this is so far from any of that shit, Beka.  I  _ like _ these.”  He indicated the marks with a wave.  “Normally I hate admitting that I'm like Victor in any way, but I get what he means about loving them.  It's like... like a physical reminder of what we did.  I can see them and think of how you felt, how you made  _ me _ feel.  And...” he trailed off, dropping his gaze to the bed so that he didn't have to look at Otabek when he admitted, “I like the idea of being marked by you.  Of being  _ yours _ .”  He shook his head.  “That doesn't sound like exactly what I mean.  Fuck, I can't explain it right, but I like it, okay?”

 

“I...” Otabek let his gaze drift over Yuri's pale skin once more before going up to his eyes.  “Do they hurt?”

 

“Not at all,” Yuri assured him.  “Do yours?”

 

Otabek looked at the lines on his shoulders again.  They didn't feel like much at all.  A slight sting when he stretched, perhaps, but nothing more.  And despite how much he had always hated being marked up, despite the terrible things that had always been connected to it in the past, he could sort of see what Yuri meant about liking it.  He'd driven Yuri so wild with passion that he'd clawed his back in his fervor.  There was a strange sort of pride to be taken in that.  He took a deep breath and let it out.  No need to panic, no need to freak out.  It was normal.  It was okay.

 

“No, they don't hurt.  I'm sorry, Yuri.  I hope I didn't ruin this for you.”

 

Yuri smiled.  “Don't worry about it.  Like I said, I get it.  Besides, one little tantrum isn't going to ruin how amazing last night was.  I live with Victor, remember?  It takes more than one dramatic blow up to startle me.”

  
XX   
  
It was easy for Yuri to forget, sometimes, that things hadn't always been this way.  That he and Otabek hadn't always been together, hadn't always spent their nights wrapped around one another.  That Victor had once been lonelier than he would have ever admitted to Yuri, back before a musician in hiding had come tumbling into his life.  That despite Victor's best efforts to prevent it, the enormous house he and Yuri lived in had once felt empty and incomplete.   
  
But all of that had changed.  Victor had changed.  He didn't get that resignedly sad look in his eye any more when he thought Yuri wasn't looking.  His playing, which had slowly become more and more morose over the years, was suddenly bright and vibrant as only a man in love's can be.  None of his smiles were forced, his somewhat childish antics were no longer a cover for a deeper pain.  Yuri had changed as well.  Oh, he still snipped and snapped, but there was no malice behind his snarling.  His genuine smiles, which had been far and few between before, were suddenly a common occurrence – though if anyone commented on that, he would scowl.  He stopped holding others (mainly Yuuri) to impossible standards because of his own insecurities.  The bitterness that had filled him for so long slowly melted away, leaving him full of happiness and hope for the future.   
  
Otabek and Yuuri, too, had changed.  To anyone observing from the outside, the changes in Otabek would seem small.  His smile, which had always been slight and stifled, became a bit wider and came a little more often.  His somewhat erratic behavior stopped and he opened up more to others around him.  Suddenly, he became a talented horseback rider instead of the injury prone beginner he'd been for years.  To those that knew him better, though, the changes were more profound.  He was relaxed at home and laughed easily.  He stopped tensing when anyone but Yuri came close to him.  He voiced opinions, expressed displeasure without fear of punishment.  Working with Yuuri on composing, he was slowly regaining his love of music.   
  
And Yuuri... he had changed perhaps most of all.  The anxiety that had dogged his every step for years had begun to ease.  Instead of assuming everyone thought the worst of him, he began to see that others admired him, respected him, looked up to him.  It took time, but he started to accept that he was  _ good _ .  A talented musician and composer who had so much more to offer the world.  His confidence, bolstered by Victor's unwavering support, returned and grew even greater than it had been before his disastrous performance.  For the first time in years, he wondered if he should try taking the stage once more.   
  
In the evenings, he spent time with Otabek composing.  There were two stories he wanted to tell, both along a similar vein of triumph over adversity, of life and love and the strength to persevere until the storm broke and the sun came out once more.  He let Otabek take charge of the first piece, merely guiding him when he faltered.  It was a violin composition, sharp and fast at times, slow and sad at others.  When Otabek played, letting his bow and fingers run freely across the strings to test the notes, it was almost cruel how well he could play the pain of it.  How easily the hurt flowed from him, as if it was his second nature.  But then the music swelled.  It grew full to bursting, overflowing with softness and light and hope.  It was playful, sensual, sweet.  Then, slowly, it faded away, the last notes lingering in the air as if the song wasn't quite finished.  As if it wouldn't ever be.   
  
The second piece Yuri was working on, he kept to himself.  No one, not even Victor, had heard him practice it.  It came to him in fits and spurts, his fingers flowing madly over the page as he struggled to copy down the notes at the speed which they formed themselves in his head.  Then he would stall, stuttering and staggering to a halt.  He would doubt himself.  Doubt his abilities, his talent, his worth.  And suddenly Victor would be there, distracting him from his dark thoughts with laughter and pleasure, or silently offering his support.  The things that had seemed so insurmountable melted away and Yuuri would again find himself composing.   
  
Eventually, the one thing he didn't have was an ending.  There were possibilities swirling in his mind, some soft and sad, others rich and poignant, even jarring crescendos that told of disaster and pain.  But nothing ever felt quite right.  He wondered if maybe he couldn't write the ending because he still didn't know what his future held.  If that was the case, maybe the piece would never be finished...   
  
XX   
  
“Are you sure?” Yuri asked, trying and failing to keep the excitement from his voice.  Otabek laughed.   
  
“Yes, I'm sure.  I told you, the only reason I wouldn't let you before was because you'd have seen through the ruse.  Now there's no reason to pretend that I'm bad at it.  And-” he stopped, rubbing the back of his neck the way he often did when abashed, “I want to share this with you.”   
  
“Okay,” Yuri smiled, slipping his arms around Beka and pulling him close for a kiss.  “If you're sure.”   
  
They took Yuri's car to the stable, since the motorcycle wasn't quite finished yet.  The fact that pieces he needed for it just kept 'appearing' in the garage had made the process considerably faster than when Beka had built the first bike, but it was still a big job.  By the time they pulled into the dirt parking lot in front of the huge wooden building, Yuri was practically vibrating with excitement.  Otabek took his hand and led them into the stable.  At the end of the many rows of stalls was the horse Beka rode, Bear.   
  
“He's huge!” Yuri exclaimed.   
  
“He's on the bigger side, but there are larger horses here.”   
  
“How the hell do you control something that large?  That's insane!”   
  
Otabek unhooked the gate and began putting on Bear's tack and bridle.  “It's more about confidence and trust than power.  If you're good to your horse, if you take care of him and show him he can trust you, then you don't need spurs or a whip or to hurt him at all to get him to take you where you want to go.  He'll do it because he wants to.”   
  
Yuri could read a wealth of deeper meaning in those words.  It was bittersweet, but knowing that Beka was safe and happy now helped ease the sting.  “Why don't you show me what you can do?” he asked.   
  
“You don't want to come up with me?”  Otabek was surprised.   
  
“I do, but not quite yet.  I want to watch you on your own first.”   
  
“Okay.”  Suddenly, Otabek felt a little self conscious.  People had seen him ride before, of course, but usually he'd been putting on a show of some sort.  Either being purposely bad, or more recently, displaying what he was truly capable of.  This would be the first time anyone saw him ride just for the joy of it.  He fitted his foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself up, slinging his leg over to Bear's other side so that he was astride the horse.  Bear danced a little, excited to be on their way.  Otabek leaned down and murmured a few words of encouragement into the horse's ear, then tapped his heels to his flanks.  They trotted out of the barn with Yuri trailing behind them.   
  
Once they were out in the pasture, Otabek led Bear forward a bit, then tapped his flanks again.  Bear went from trotting, to cantering, then began to gallop.  The two of them moved in perfect unison, Otabek tucked low on the horse's back, guiding with gentle tugs on the reins.  They sped across the grass, then flew over the low fence at the edge of the pasture.  Wind was rushing past Otabek's ears, snatching at his clothes, but he felt totally secure.  The rest of the world fell away until it was just the horse beneath him and the sun at his back.  He felt so fucking  _ free. _ They went faster and faster, shooting along the fence line and then leaping it once more.     
  
As they neared the barn again, Otabek pulled on the reins to slow them down.  Soon they were down to a trot, and came to a stop beside Yuri.  He stared up at them in awe.  Otabek grinned down at him, his entire face lit up in joy.   
  
“That was  _ amazing _ ,” Yuri breathed.  Otabek laughed and shifted in the saddle so that he was further forward.   
  
“It wasn't much of anything as far as dressage points go, but it's my favorite part of riding.”   
  
“Seriously, Beka, that was amazing.  I've never seen anything like that.  It was like you were... connected, or something.”   
  
“It's an incredible feeling.  Care to share it with me?”  He held his hand out for Yuri, so much like he had on the road all those months ago.  Yuri grinned and slipped his hand into Otabek's.   
  
“Of course.”   
  
Otabek pulled him onto the horse and Yuri settled his arms around Beka's waist, just like they did on the bike.  The horse's movements were jarring at first, the sharp bouncing nearly stealing his breath, but then as they picked up speed, everything became smoother.  It almost felt liquid, like water sluicing down a river bed.  The horse changed directions with the slightest shift of Otabek's weight, leaning into turns and then going faster on the straight-aways.  When they took their first jump, Yuri felt delight bubbling up inside of him and he laughed with the force of it.  He held Otabek tighter and sent up a little prayer of thanks to whatever deity was listening for everything he'd been given.   
  
XX   
  
“I'm not... I mean, I don't think that's a good idea,” Otabek demurred.   
  
“Why not?” Yuuri asked, surprised.   
  
“It's your song.  There's no way I could do it justice.”   
  
“That's ridiculous.  This is  _ your _ song, Otabek.  You're the only one who could play it the way it's really meant to be played.”   
  
“But you-”   
  
“All I did was nudge you along.  It was all you.  This song is your story.”   
  
“That's not true- you're the composer.  I was just... just learning from you.”   
  
“Otabek, that's not true and we both know it.  You're a natural at composing.  You've created an amazing piece here, and I think it would be a great choice for the exhibition.”   
  
“You really think so?”   
  
“I do,” Yuuri assured him, resting a hand on Otabek's shoulder and feeling fiercely proud of him when Beka didn't tense at the contact.   
  
“Of course you'll do great,” Yuri said from where he was leaning against the door.  Otabek turned, not having realized Yuri was there.   
  
“You'd say that even if I'd be crap at it,” he chuckled.   
  
“Don't be stupid.  I wouldn't let you make a fool of yourself at an exhibition.  If I didn't think you could do it, and do it better than anyone else, I would tell you.”   
  
“I guess you're right.”   
  
“I always am.  Now come on, you two, Victor's got dinner ready and I'm starving.”   
  
XX   
  
Victor always woke up before Yuuri.  Victor was an early riser, and Yuuri was a night owl.  It had taken some time for them to adjust to their varying schedules, but they had discovered that they could both use the opportunity to practice since the music room was sound proofed.   
  
As the first rays of dawn began shining through the crack in the curtains, Victor curled closer to Yuuri and kissed his shoulder.  Yuuri mumbled in his sleep and arched back against Victor, his ass pressing into the cradle of Victor's hips.  Despite having been inside him only half a dozen hours before, Victor felt himself stir at the unintentionally provocative contact.  He shifted a little and his cock wedged against the inviting crevice.   
  
He really ought to get up and go practice.  The director at the University had asked him to be the guest performer at the upcoming exhibition, and he hadn't even picked out a piece.  Plus, he hadn't practiced the day before because he'd spent the morning helping the boys with the bike.  Really, he should get out of bed and leave Yuuri to his sleep.   
  
Instead, he found himself rocking his hips.  Yuuri barely stirred, but Victor wasn't surprised.  Yuuri was such a heavy sleeper that it would take much more than a little light frottage to wake him.  Victor began to wonder just how much more it would take.  Carefully, he slipped his hand between them and eased one finger into Yuuri.  He was still slick from their activities the night before, and his body was utterly relaxed. His breath already hitching with excitement, Victor gripped himself and began to press forward.  Slowly, carefully, he felt himself be encased in tight heat.  He shuddered with the restraint of taking his time, of making sure Yuuri wouldn't feel even a hint of discomfort when he woke up.  Victor wanted this to be nothing but pleasure for him.   
  
When he was buried all the way inside, Victor stopped.  Yuuri sighed in his sleep and his body began to move in now familiar motions, rocking backwards.  Victor thrust forward to meet him softly.  He wrapped his arm around Yuuri's waist and gripped the erection he was now sporting, stroking it in time with the thrusts.   
  
Just as Victor was starting to think they would both come before Yuuri woke up, he stirred and let out a low moan.  “Victor,” he whispered, voice still rough with sleep, “what're you doing?”  Victor chuckled, low and sensual.   
  
“I would think that obvious, love.”   
  
“Well y-yeah,” Yuuri's breath hitched as pleasure washed over him.  “But didn't we just-”   
  
“I had every intention of going off to practice this morning like a good little boy, but then you tempted me with your lovely assets.  I was helpless to resist.”   
  
“Mm, of course you were.”   
  
“Do you want me to stop?” Victor paused thrusting, causing Yuuri to arch and let out a soft cry of protest.   
  
“Don't you dare,” he demanded.   
  
“As you wish,” Victor agreed with a grin.  He increased his pace, moving faster and faster until they were both gasping, straining for just a little more-   
  
“Victor!”  Yuuri fisted the sheets with one hand and looped the other over his head so that he could lace his fingers through Victor's hair and pull.  Just like that, Victor was coming with him, hips stuttering erratically as he spilled.  They pressed together as waves of pleasure crashed over them, drawing each aftershock out.  When they finally pulled apart, Yuuri rolled over and looked at Victor with one brow raised.  “Well that was a fun way to wake up.”   
  
Victor chuckled.  “I was hoping you'd enjoy it.”   
  
“You do realize that I'll probably be too sore for a repeat performance tonight now, right?”   
  
“Mm, I thought so, but it was worth it.  Besides, I like thinking of you going off to work and feeling the result of our passion all day.”   
  
“That's just a romantic way of saying you like knowing I'll be thinking of what you did to get me sore all day.”   
  
“Ah, you caught me,” Victor admitted with a smirk.   
  
“You're incorrigible.”   
  
“Does that mean next time I should restrain myself?”   
  
“Of course not.  You know I'm always open to your.... attention.  Especially since it always ends so well for me.”  He gestured down to the streak of white on his chest and stomach.  “In fact, I think I might enlist you for a repeat performance the next time I have an early morning appointment.  This was far better than an alarm clock.”   
  
“Any time, love, any time.  Are you going to go back to sleep?  You probably don't need to get up for the day for another hour or so.”   
  
Yuuri stretched and yawned.  “No, I think I'm awake enough to get up.  Plus, I should probably hop in the shower after this.”   
  
“Maybe I'll join you.”   
  
“Oh no you don't,” Yuuri laughed, pushing Victor back onto the bed when he started to rise.  “You've already had your fun this morning.  If you get in the shower with me, we won't ever get going, and I won't be able to  _ sit _ .”   
  
“Fine, fine, go enjoy your shower on your own.  I should probably go practice anyways.”   
  
“Have you figured out what piece you're going to do for the exhibition?” Yuuri asked as he put on his glasses and rose from the bed.   
  
“Not really.  I don't suppose you have another fantastic original composition up your sleeve that I can wow the world with?”   
  
“Well, actually-”   
  
“Really?”  Victor sat upright, intrigued.   
  
“I mean, it's not totally polished yet, but I've been working on something.  It's kind of... I don't know.  Kind of a story.  My story, I guess.”   
  
“Oh, Yuuri.  You should be the one to perform it, then!”   
  
“You know I can't do that.”  Yuuri started towards the bathroom door, but Victor was out of the bed in a flash and caught his hand.   
  
“You can.” Victor told him softly.  “If you want.  You don't have to, but of course you can.”   
  
“I- I'm not sure I'm ready.”   
  
“You've always been ready, Yuuri.  You never stopped being ready.  You had one bad night, you let your nerves get to you and it took your confidence.  But you've always had your ability.  You're an amazing musician.  Nothing can change that.  All you have to do is let the music out again.”   
  
“How am I supposed to face an audience again?  I could do the same thing over again, freeze and make a fool of myself and-”   
  
“Yuuri, that's not what would happen.  You're so much stronger now than you were five years ago.  You've come so far.”   
  
“But I could-”   
  
“What if I was there with you?” Victor asked suddenly.   
  
“What?”   
  
“If I performed with you.  We could take the stage together.  You and me.”   
  
“Perform... with you?”  Yuuri's eyes shone with something like wonder.  It had always been his dream to someday perform with Victor.  He'd dedicated his life to making it become a possibility.  Before that fateful night five years ago, it had been his most desperate wish.  But now... could he face his fears in order to make that dream come true?   
  
“You don't have to decide right now, love.  I don't want to pressure you.  Just promise me you'll think about it.”   
  
“I will,” Yuuri promised.   
  
XX   
  
“You're going to do great,” Yuri assured Otabek just before he took the stage.  All day, Beka had been plagued with nerves.  He was going to be playing an original Katsuki piece – or at the very least, as Yuuri continually insisted, a collaboration – and for the first time in his life, he was playing for himself.  Not for his father.  Not because it was what was expected of him.  Not to prevent the beating that would follow if he made a mistake.  Just for the joy of doing so.  He swallowed past his fears and pulled Yuri into a tight hug.   
  
“Thank you,” he whispered.  “For everything.”   
  
After a moment, Yuri hugged him back just as tightly.  “I'm the one who should be grateful, you idiot.  You... you gave me my happiness back.  And you gave me the best gift I could have ever asked for.”  When Otabek looked at him curiously, Yuri booped his nose softly.  “You.”  Otabek's eyes softened and he pressed a kiss to Yuri's lips.  “Now get out there and knock their socks off,” Yuri demanded after he broke the kiss.   
  
Otabek straightened his shoulders and took the stage.   
  
He played.  He swept the audience along with his performance, telling a story so poignant that even those who didn't know the whole tale had tears in their eyes.  When the last, echoing strains of the violin faded away, the whole auditorium burst into applause.   
  
No one clapped louder than Victor and Yuuri in the first row, except perhaps Yuri, standing backstage.   
  
Twenty minutes later, it was Yuri's time to perform.  He danced to the main chorus of  _ Sleeping Beauty _ , not caring that it was cliché, not caring that it had been done before.  He danced it his way, to tell his own version of it.  Not about the years he'd spent in slumber, but about being woken up to a world full of vibrancy.  About finding happiness with the prince who'd broken the spell that he'd let fall on himself.  He didn't push for absolute, rigid perfection as he always had in the past.  Instead, he let the music move him, let it flow through him the way it was meant to.  And finally, that one piece that had been missing from his performances in the past fell into place.   
  
The last piece of the night had been slotted as Victor playing a new song composed by Yuuri Katsuki.  The audience was surprised, then, when a music stand was brought out and set beside the baby grand piano.  The low murmurs that had broken out went silent when Victor took the stage and stepped up to the microphone.   
  
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”  He flashed a brilliant smile, one that made nearly everyone in the audience smile reflexively back at him.  “I have the great honor of playing for you tonight a piece that was very recently composed by the incredible and elusive Yuuri Katsuki himself.  I think you'll find that the song tells a beautiful story.  One that can't be told by a single musician alone.  Not even me.”  He smiled, and laughter flitted around the room.  “Thankfully, I've been blessed to have met an amazing man who is perhaps the only person alive that can do this piece justice.  And so, it is my greatest pleasure to present to you my partner for the evening, my partner in all things, Yuuri Katsuki.”   
  
He turned, holding arm outstretched.  There was a pause, and then, cautiously, Yuuri took the stage.  A few people in the front who could see clearly gasped.  Yuuri flinched at the noise but kept his eyes on Victor and made his way to the microphone.  Victor wrapped a steadying arm around him.   
  
“Uh, hi,” he said into the microphone.  There was only stunned silence to greet him.  “Most of you probably know me as just Yuuri, or Professor Winnerson.”  There were more gasps, and Yuuri had to force himself to keep going.  “I'm sure those of you that know who I am know that I stopped performing several years ago.  I've been keeping to myself since then, just composing.  I thought that was all I was ever going to do again.  I would have been happy to keep writing and teaching in anonymity.  But then some incredible people came into my life and changed all that.  They showed me unwavering love and support,” he looked at Victor, “and taught me the true meaning of courage.”  His eyes turned and found Otabek and Yuri in the crowd.  “So this story, this song, is for them.  But it's also for me.  To regain something I thought I'd lost forever.  I, uh,” he faltered, a blush rising to his cheeks.  “I hope you enjoy it.”   
  
There was still that deafening silence as both Victor and Yuuri took their places.  They looked at each other, counting the beat silently, then Victor began to play.  His fingers danced across the keys, short and soft, slow and then growing in speed until they hit a high.  And then Yuuri joined him.  His bow drew across the strings of his violin and made it sing, sweet and strong, quick bursts of music that flowed into achingly tender notes that hung in the air.  They played together as if they'd been born to play together.  As if one could never be complete without the other.  The song poured out of them, ebbing and flowing like the tide.  Each swell was more beautiful than the last, each decrescendo left everyone listening holding their breath and praying that it wasn't the last.   
  
Victor didn't see the audience.  He didn't even look at the sheets of music in front of him. His eyes were locked on Yuuri, on the way his body swayed as he continued playing, as if the music was coming from within him, breaking free from a prison it had been trapped in for years.  It was the most breathtaking thing Victor had ever seen.  His hands moved, not of their own accord, but following the magic that Yuuri was creating, the spell he wove around them that was impossible to resist.     
  
They reached the climax and Victor felt his heart was going to burst from the love he felt for the man before him.  Yuuri's eyes had opened and they were locked on Victor.  Tears were falling down his cheeks freely, his emotions plucked out of him and hanging in the air between them for the whole world to see.   
  
Slowly, the music began to fade, each note softer than the last until there was nothing but the last ring of them resounding across the stage.  There was an unnatural stillness in the room, as if everyone and everything within it was afraid to move, afraid to mar that perfect moment.  Then Yuri shot to his feet and began clapping, unaware of the tears that had fallen from his own eyes.  Otabek stood beside him, and then everyone in the audience moved all at once, rising and cheering.     
  



End file.
